Aabye's Baby
There is love for you matron,
Your smooth white skin,
Like cream, verily, verily, verily.
And your cat, a cat that might ...

Might want to love you for ever,
Ever after, until corpses dance and leap from the tomb.
Now go and pray: you've made love to your boy,
Your Adonis, your Endymion, your Actaeon.

To love you, to be faithful to you in a fashion.
Because the pretty girl surreptitiously, unabashedly,
Embraces black Apollos with white white teeth
At parties, fetes, and celebrations (perhaps on all occasions).

But for a religious tone in which the sacrifice is calfed,
Parted out, vivisected, distributed to gods and priestesses,
The young king requires (besides prose arranged in columns) a simple thing,
To end, finish, kiss oblivion.

Gregory Arena lives in Bergamo in Northern Italy with his girlfriend and small daughter. When not writing or teaching he likes trekking, cycling, and cross-country skiing. Ages ago he took a degree in English. He has published a fair amount of short stories and poems in Small Press publications and is always interested in feedback. The Aabye's Baby Archive
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Gregory Santa Arena, 2001
Web design by Gerald England
This page last updated: 14th December 2006.