Shifton Studied Sex.

[dadio]

Shifton studied sex; he had books
And magazines on the subject
Stuffed in his bookcase shelves,
Pages bent, corners marked,
Words scribbled along the sides
Of print where he disagreed;
His scrawl almost unintelligible
To another’s eye. He had paintings
Of nude women on his walls;
Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde
Blared from the Hifi; a statuette
Of Aphrodite stood on his cluttered
Desk next to a photo of his wife
Semi clad taken on their wedding night,
Her Pre-Raphaelite features holding
The eye. Shifton wrote erotic poetry,
His writing scribbled on anything
At hand; his wife looking over
His shoulder as he wrote, her hand
On his shoulder, giving it a squeeze,
Kissing his earlobe, nibbling, licking,
Bringing him to fruit. His wife modelled
For sex magazines, for art classes,
For Shifton in his need of artistic
Inspiration, for the landlord when
The rent was due, saying softy and sexily,
What is a poor young innocent to do?
Shifton laughed; took in the Wagnerian
Swirl of sounds, the fat lady singing
In the Brunhilde role; the statuette
Of Aphrodite in his hands, his lips kissing
The small breasts, the eyes moving over
The cold stone; his wife sitting in the next room,
Neglected now, sad and naked and alone.