I don't have one, or rather the one I have
hides discreetly in its little hood. As
they should.
A piquant pea, appropriately kept to
weather
all kinds of climates hot to chill, with
folds
and layers to peel back. And a hook. When
laid bare
it won't grow to a tree for all the world
to see,
unless of course I'm really a spotted hyena
in which case it would serve a multitude
of purposeful functions: pee, nooky, parturition
(apparently, mine warms to big words though);
and it could be that because it doesn't
grow
to industrial proportions, it's easier to
ignore it,
easier to relieve it whether anyone is
looking or not
and much easier to tell it no, no, no.
Cally Conan-Davies is an Australian writer and teacher who moved to the United
States in 2012. Her poems have appeared, and are forthcoming, in Poetry, The New
Criterion, The Hudson Review, The Virginia Quarterly Review, The Raintown
Review, The Sewanee Review and The Southwest Review, among others. She lives mostly in Oregon.
