All There Is
Before it happens, you wonder...
will it be like Rhett bearing Scarlet up the staircase,
Brando's rough hands driving you crazy
before he goes back to Stella.
Maybe Cary Grant, in his chin-cleffed charisma,
handing you a hot diamond first.
You wonder about the blood.
Will it stain the sheets or backseat,
scarlet-letter your underpants?
Might his rubber burst, your diaphragm
fail or the pill double-cross you?
But, it's no movie. He's young.
His hands jam in your bra,
zipper sticking, before
ramming to his sudden ahhhhhh
then you race to beat curfew, tissues in panties,
feeling that sad thud inside,
like when your ice cream drops off the cone,
painting a puddled abstract on the hot
summer sidewalk.
You wonder if that's all there is.
You wonder if the magic will rise for you, too,
when the cinema lights next go down?
Pris Campbell
©2008
Published in the Winter 2009 issue of From
East to West in which I was featured poet.
Photo from THIS
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