I, too, dislike it.
However,
I was trying to not think
when out of the gaping wound
of the car-detailing garage (smells like metallic sex)
came a Nissan GT-R fitted with an oversized spoiler.
Backing out sounded like clearing the throat of god.
A gold snake zizzed around the license plate.
Sunburst hubcaps, fancy undercarriage installation
casting a pool of violet light on the pocked pavement
of gum blots. Was it this that filled me with desire?
Editor's note: The book from which "Women's Poetry" is taken, Women's Poetry: Poems and Advice, sounds like a self-help book, and maybe it is in the true sense. What can poetry offer to women, should poetry offer to women? The poem poses the questions, and, in avoiding the platitudes and pieties both of misogyny and of feminism, is itself a moving answer, a call to arms. —Adam Plunkett
