are public,
out on display
for men the
pleasure of

ogling. It’s sobering
men pay
fifteen dollars
for a **** that hollers,

an *** that wiggles,
arms that flap
like a road map hanging
out a car window, and crow’s

feet that can’t walk,
fixing their hand
to their ****. My public
is private. Behind the screen –
men see know a thing!