Diana Saenz, Writer

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the perfect husband


the perfect husband


a woman was married to a professional clown

who could undulate across the room

slinking around with a cup of  wine

smiling loose as a friendly noodle

which delighted her to the point

that she could hardly bare to watch

and would beg him to stop but

he went on for a long moment longer

to which she writhed in debilitating laughter


the clown got his ideas from watching his wife

an amusing muse, he’d chant

she took his coat

as it wanted mending

she spoke with the dog two hours a day

and cooked in a luscious kitchen

with a hot plate

she wore slippers like Lester Young

and ate sunflower seeds


The Clown at times did his muse

in perfect imitation

the tilt of her head

and wore lipstick as red as the mouth

he painted on his clown face

with her red, red kiss he went to work each day

with a kiss from her red, red painted mouth

and a smear of lipstick on his lips


he walked from the trailer—the taste

of True True Red on his tongue

inside the tent The Clown made his entrance

a wheel of blue and red somersaulting

in his blood bright hair

he thought of sexing her

in undulating waves of transparent silk

contorting his face with ecstasy

—which spilled the crowd