by Rosalie Frost
As I kissed them goodbye
on their tony, tanned cheeks
in the perfumed air
(my still singleton girlfriends,
high-pitched mares), he silently came up
from behind, tied a dish towel
around my waist, pulled me back
away from my friends as tiny pink bubbles
rose up from still soapy hands,
tickling my nose.
He growled low into my ear,
what was all that girl-talk
while he was in the kitchen washing up?
G-spots, gadgets—
we talk so loud.
My creative life over the last two decades —- after retiring from the last of my several professional lives —- embraces writing, photography and gardening, sometimes mixed up together, feeding each other. While I try to be disciplined in my daily practice, I cherish being curiouser and curiouser as well as free to follow non-linear and free-wheeling ideas.