American Men

by Suniti Landge

I have developed a secret craving, an acute appetite
for American men.

It started with the tv in the bedroom.
The American followed me there.

We have a three way occupation
there in my bed.
My husband, I, and the American man.
An unknown rival sleeps between us.

There he is, that guy,
that one with the long legs and thick fingers,
bursting calves, which touch each other as he walks.

He has blue eyes, blue
searching eyes flash
under pale lids silver in the sun.

I know he dreams of moondust -- white and cool.
Dreams of walking her surface, the moon,
pierce her darkness
tread her valleys, one more time.

He yearns to touch her, the moon,
touch her face, capture her glow,
claim a piece of her shiny body
for himself

I watch him
this American man,
this seeker of moon rocks,
penetrator of dark skies
tamer of prairies
taker of lands
this invader of my bedroom.
I watch him, breathless.

My husband lowers himself onto pillow.
The lamp shines on his forehead.
He sleeps.

Just as well,
for tonight I am in the mood
for the American man.
The one with the smell
of prairie sun in his hair
buffalo hunt in his armpit
and moondust on his feet.

-- SL
©2000 Suniti Landge