On being coy

 

Fotografia de Le Minh Phuong

Many fish in those murky ocean caves

of Mexico, Brazil, Croatia, Oman

have no eyes.

Though in the streams outside —

clear as a frat bar in ’75 —

other males zip around and nip the females

to test chemical signals

and harass

with so much sex

that the females often cease to exist.

Better off

with a slower, blind suitor

I say — then think of Marvell’s “rough strife” —

which I adore.

See — a little coyness can work

to cloud the current.

Those black lizard boots instead of mules —

that Manhattan tourist spot.

He’s twenty-five. I’m forty.  

He demands one thing — well, two: my feet.

See what I mean?

Little has changed in the carpe diem —

or the simmering transparent stream.

Kimiko Hahn