Rib (Audio)


Leif Podhajsky

Some nights we hunt measuring

The weight of our paired bones

You are far heavier than I

But not nearly as hungry


The air does not find my pleura,

Does not find my thirsty lips willing

The blood swarms under the pressure

Of your beleaguered embrace

The poor pitiless queen

Clutching at stone fingers

Trying to pry herself free

The self-proclaimed king

Prepared to use whatever means

Necessary to illicit conquest


Your blurry face with its slit grin

A penitentiary of sharp teeth

Lined up side by side idle

Within their cloistered cells

Eyes as tar sticking, sticking

To the lining of my windpipe

I should be flattered

What other requirement

Could be more pressing

Than your mighty phallus?


Is your animus so great

That I can place my dreams upon it

My child-bearing hips

My white yielding breasts?

What of my carnivorous spirit?

And intractable intellect?

Will you tend them?

Feed them? Worship them

As I must worship yours


It always comes back to the rib

The one that tears now at my side

Longing to extract itself and return

To its former commission

That rib that compels me to love

And service and maddening attraction

Yes the very one that you lord over me