The Maynard
Spring 2016

P.C. Vandall

Romeo, Romeo, WTF?

Where’s the stout woman peeling potatoes,
the short-haired damsel slicing cucumbers,
and the gal bent over the garden patch?
Where’s the bunions, fannies and varicose

veins and where have all the vaginas gone?
Are they locked in some tower without hair?
Love is not blushing brides, rosy-red cheeks
and ruby lips. It’s not about passion

fruit, peaches, and melons, cherries popping
from the trees while ripe bananas go limp
and brown. It’s seeing past the watery
silks, slithering skins and forbidden fruits.

Love isn’t dying. Love is strolling through
dog shit and liking it. Love is not you.
It’s me and it’s over! Dear Love Poem,
If I call you Romeo, would you come

up for a night cap? I’ll pour. You drink first.