21st Century Love
I was never committed to the theory
of penis envy. (It's a bit maudlin,
like woman's cramps.) But apparently
some men think it is so, the way they
present themselves to me like a Kinsey report.
I was driving on a hectic day on East State Street.
My lunch box beside me held all my jumbled emotions
like a psychiatrist's jungle. I dug inside for pity and juice.
I was not surprised when my boyfriend showed no empathy
when I unveiled my vulnerability.
He was a wax figure, melted by the sun.
There is such a thing as love, a manic shade,
and I have found but once.
Sex taints everything neon green with ice.
Amanda Tumminaro lives in Illinois with her family. She enjoys libraries and caffeinated drinks. Her poetry has appeared in Storm Cellar, Sassafras Literary Magazine, Hot Metal Bridge, and Three and half point 9, among others.