How like the iris of Zoroaster, her nipples—
white of prophetic eyeball, areola regarding
the cloudless, hot Ahura Mazda blue, golden she
from grasping composition of sun and brownness
from the payolas and neutrino hordes. But Pedro,
the gardener, Ben, the driver from the other
house, and the eleven construction workers they
called in from the unfinished mansion nearby:
they did not perceive these. All they saw was
Ursula sunbathing by Helen Small’s California-
style swimming pool, her rather thickly-haired
brown vagina, tits, four sets of ribs that clearly
showed through, and her sad mouth through the
peephole in the perimeter concrete. After all,
each only had his allotted ten seconds, which
wasn’t much. Today, 40 years later, Mrs. Small
has kept her house and pool exactly the same
as when Ursula Andres sunbathed (relaxing—
in between sequences with John Derek in a bad
World War II film set in ravaged Manila) though
Helen is elderly now, and few come to visit. Even
the peephole still exists, as all-seeing as ever.
- first draft
- 2007
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