The Contortionist
Lyn Stefenhagens
God! I longed to be Wanda
whose thighs filled her ears
whose neck stemmed her crotch
whose view was her own heels;
who could have kissed her elbow,
who could have become a boy, any time she chose.
How I envied Wanda,
sexless in Spandex.
The flow of her body
was water through my girlhood.
I knew she could have done it.
Some night in Muncie,
right at the drumroll,
she’d smack her own elbow
and leap from her tangle
unknotted into HIM!
Wondo. Waldo. Whatever,
the silly suit bulging,
the audience mad with applause. Roses.
Shit. I hated Wanda,
squandering her choices.
Such an easy manhood, kissing off an elbow.