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.