The Meat Man's Wife

It's an old game
that still gets me off--I lie
perfectly still
while he labels the pieces of my body
with a blue butcher's marker
breaking me up into my fuckable parts.

He once told me
he used to work at a meat packing plant
and the only way he could stand touching the cold
cattle flesh
was to concentrate on images of naked women. Now,
he can only get turned on if he pretends
his women are dead animals.
Or so he says.

The cold marker cuts my breasts
into twin racks of ribs, my back
into prime cuts, shoulder roasts. The steel cuffs
feel like barbed hooks poised
to pierce my flesh--I await
the tug of the crane arm lifting me up--suspending me
helpless, in the dark

it's an old game we play
that still gets me off.

copyright 2004 Holly Day
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