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Of Sexy Legs and Poetry

At the Poetry Reading

John Brehm

I can’t keep my eyes off the poet’s

wife’s legs—they’re so much more

beautiful than anything he might

be saying, though I’m no longer

in a position really to judge,

having stopped listening some time ago.

He’s from the Iowa Writers Workshop

and can therefore get along fine

without my attention. He started in

reading poems about his childhood—

barns, cornsnakes, gradeschool, flowers,

that sort of stuff—the loss of

innocence he keeps talking about

between poems, which I can relate to,

especially under these circumstances.

Now he’s on to science, a poem

about hydrogen, I think, he’s trying

to imagine himself turning into hydrogen.

Maybe he’ll succeed. I’m imagining

myself sliding up his wife’s fluid,

rhythmic, lusciously curved, black-

stockinged legs, imagining them arched

around my shoulders, wrapped around my back.

My God, why doesn’t he write poems about her!

He will, no doubt, once she leaves him,

leaves him for another poet, perhaps,

the observant, uninnocent one, who knows

a poem when it sits down in a room with him.


What do you think? I’ve been to my fair share of poetry readings, and most times rather than not, they can be quite yawn-inducing.  Yet I collect, read and write poetry.  I think, perhaps, poetry was meant to be read. It is of ink and parchment, and perhaps even kindles and monitors.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’d be looking at the poet’s wife’s legs too.  Wouldn’t you?


If you like this poem as much as I do, visit Mr. Brehm’s website HERE.


Thank you, Pervert Savant, for submitting this lovely piece for our PSO-etry collection. You sure do know how to pick ’em.

xo, Angela

3 Responses to “Of Sexy Legs and Poetry”

  1. hdb Says:

    I walked into many a puddle and made a few all due to a pair of shapely legs. So I understand the “problem” completely.

  2. Angela Says:

    Someday, hdb, you are going to kneel at my feet and beg to look up my skirt. I might — just might — let you rub your erection on my nylons.


  3. Mr. Smith Says:

    Now this is the Angela I know. I hope you never stop bringing us poetry for your PSO-etry.

    And I think you’re right, you experience it fully when reading it, rather than hearing it aloud.

    This might just be my favorite poem yet.

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