Previous Dated Entry: « Somebody had to be Judas
Next: Between Two Portakabin Windows »
16th
January
2007
January
2007
On the floor of the Medellín Stock Exchange shortly before the introduction of electronic trading
If I were a man
I would be a baby-immature,
Unable to command the respect
Of my fellow men
Or garner the attention of women,
Certainly unable to,
In the eye of a market storm,
Write up the changing prices
On that chalk board,
Look down into the pit
With its cubicles,
Their short desks, round-dial black telephones and lamps,
Along with the Astor tea-room in Calle Junín
The last remains of Dickens in this world.
The previous night I had lapped up
A raven-head’s black cunt;
As she pushed herself murmuring into my mouth
I thought of the English cricket team:
How they were mentally weak.
I don’t know whether it is my modern man conditioning by my feminist friends, but for some reason I manage to extract a sense of pride for the capture of overt strong sexuality by the voice in this poem. I understand the sentiment, but I do think the imagery is under-realized. Provoking, but could be something much more complicated and interesting.