How you’d begin would never be the same;
at times you’d even face me for a while.
But always, in that drive before you came,
you’d flip me over, finish doggy-style.
Another funny thing: you’d never try
to steal a peek at me when I undressed.
I wondered if you’d rather have a guy,
if that was why you covered up my breasts.
Or maybe I was wrong, and you were straight,
but ex or mama used to yak, yak, yak;
you’d shove my mouth into the pillowcase
to face an uncommunicative back.
I haven’t met her yet, your newest friend,
and yet I’d bet my butt about the end.
Julie Kane teaches at Northwestern State University in Natchitoches, Louisiana. Her most recent poetry collection, Rhythm & Booze, was a National Poetry Series winner and Poets’ Prize finalist, and her forthcoming collection, Jazz Funeral, is the recipient of the 2009 Donald Justice Poetry Award. She also won First Prize in the 2007 Open Poetry international sonnet competition.