We Are Not A Muse

I could never fuck a man

Who looks like he reads books, she said

The only time that I can come

Is when his clumsy calloused fingers smear

Brickdust and bruises on my breasts

And I can taste the sweat and smoke and stale beer

He’s breathing hard into my face

And I am crushed beneath his gut

As his thick arms of tattooed muscle hold me down

I like a man who might have done some time

Who’s not afraid of anything

We’re all afraid of something, I’m afraid, I said

I can’t get off with boys my age, she said

Students skinnier than me

Who fumble and can’t hold their ale

I need a real man who’s been there

Propping up the bar all night

Who calls me darling, traps me with a wink

Who’s got one wife and family at home

And another chasing him for child support

A man who’s flash and spends his money recklessly

Who’ll put me in my place

And what about a man who wrote you poetry, I asked

What, texted me some stupid rhyme, she said

No, poetry, I said

Recited from the heart out loud

Blank verse perhaps

If any twat embarrassed me like that I’d kick

The fucker’s head in

Right, I said

Just wondering

Tags: class, desire, love, masculinity, sex