If I have to be a playmate
In my time on earth
I want to be the girl
Of
drifting leaves, cold cheeks
And passionate regrets.
I think Hef loves October best
Because although he
cannot
Say so, he is this close
To death. December
In its stealth has hung
Long spikes of ice
Around
his sagging ears, his
Sex. So in October
I'll be the centerfold of gay
Pretense, the girl who
says
We're at our blondest
And most perilously beautiful
Right before we check out
Of the manse.
Soon all Hef's dreaming
Will be ash, his favorite pipe
And smoking jacket,
Last vial of Viagra
Safely under glass
At the Smithsonian.
When my shelf life here
Is done and all the damp
Boys stealing glimpses
At the newsstands
Are old men, I want them
To remember how many
Playmate-months
Are gone, how many rooms
Stand empty, shutters
Drawn, the last girls
slipped
Away in bright October.
