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Credits: Lorenzo Capaccioni

Body language

Citrus fruit perfume tickling the air

The broken flesh thin with browns and yellows

Sweet oil and hard seeds are their spoils to share

The flushed, shameful pulp thrown to the gallows.

Like squishy virgins recoiling sin’s touch.

The binge and gorge of the hungry glutton

Who, with licked lips and a damp groin, takes much

From the Church basket, pays with the button

Of his coat, and flashes the altar boy.

Incensed and throbbing, the priests cry and cry. 

The butcher saluted by a meat tray

Chokes his gorgeous pride with a plastic tie

Pounding patties and snipping sausage skin

He grunts deep and comes to a sloppy pause.

His wife makes dinner and prays for her kin. 

The thing in the mirror rebels no cause

Her body only made holy by men

And bloodshed in the name of tradition

Shaping her slow tease since she bloomed at ten.

Abused by boys and left scorned by women.

-Jack Power