Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Red Ones, Blue Ones

A trained corsetière,
my aunt measured
large breasts
small breasts
just blooming breasts
over the hill breasts
randy breasts
shy breasts
well used breasts
never been touched breasts.

At least once a week
she spoke of her dreams.
Balloons. Always about balloons.
Red ones     blue ones    white ones
all set adrift and rising until,
peak reached and deflating,
they fell to the earth in soft plops.
Like a late summer rain.
Like the sound of a boy's gasp
as he jerks off to a photo
bought for a buck.

Pris Campbell


erin said...

I love this!!! How's your cold? I am still sick... just can't seem to shake it. But, I am writing again, so I guess the down time has done me well...

Helen Losse said...

Hi Pris. I like this, too. You make the comparison seem obvious.

Pris said...

Hi Erin
Thanks. I'm still not over mine, either. I'm better, but still stay excessively tired and my voice is only beginning to come back. Hope we both get past this soon.

Hi. Yes, they do all deflate eventually, don't they?:-)

polona said...

love this one, pris!
glad you're back to blogging, take care! (i caught a cold a month ago and am still coughing)

RC said...

Hey,Pris,I love this poem!

Pat Paulk said...

Ah, Pris you been peeking again!! My personal preference is randy/well used, not into training!!! Love it!!

Pris said...


and Pat...how did I guess your preferences??:-)

Mike said...

love this poem
missing you

Pris said...

Thanks, Mike...and your blog disappeared!

Michael Parker said...

Ha! A great ending!

Pris said...

Like that, eh?:-)