In the Middle Drawer

next to the Depends
the satin peach
flapper panties.
My mother never
said the word
“orgasm,” never
asked me if I
had, tho she knew
whether or not
each man I had was
circumcised. Could
she, younger than
I am when my
father fell over
into snow on the
way to his lawyer
weeks before the
divorce, have only
felt relief at
never having to
think of condoms
or diaphragms.
My father was the
best she said tho
never admitted
there were others,
only that men
want what they
can’t have. But
she kept that satin
as close as her
nitroglycerine
as if the slippery
curves would move
into dreams like
a voice on radio
all night to touch
her where she waited
like a bride