Anhedonia
Gregg Bordowitz
A fantasy, as if on a sailing ship:
Making my calculations, sweat soaked wet
Lying flat, bunk above, close, hidden
The gaps between bent slats dangling weight
Pressure applied, visibly registered
These modern ships can almost berth themselves
Corseted in my sleep, I can’t breathe
Stuck in this enormous estate, interred
My crinoline scratching against itself
Now I am royalty after the feast
As my engorged body is stiffening
Wealth and privilege become the atmosphere…
