Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!

Hade's Pitch

If I could just touch your ankle,
he whispers, there on the outside,
above the bone-- leans closer,
breath of lime and peppers--
I know I could make love to you .

She considers this, secretly thrilled,
though she wasn't quite sure what
he meant. He was good with words,
words that went straight to the liver.

Was she falling for him out of sheer
boredom-- cooped up in this
anything-but-humble dive, stone
gargoyles leering and brocade
drapes licked with fire?
Her ankle burns where he described it.

She sighs just as her mother
aboveground stumbles, is caught
by the dredlock--bereft in an instant--
while the Great Man drives home
his desire.

Written by Rita Dove


Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge