Turn Out the Lights

 

“I can’t make love with the lights on,”

you say,

not breathless the way Marilyn Monroe

sang to JFK,

but breathless like the last few minutes

Of Perry Mason

when the witness,

after lying for 50 minutes

suddenly confesses

because there’re only 10 minutes left

and they need a commercial.

You’re frightened that your body

won’t stand up to scrutiny.

Don’t you realize that I love you?

Despite my dark eyes

there isn’t dark around my eyes,

I’m not the Raymond Burr raccoon

I’m sorry you feel you have to shave

your legs

pluck

your eyebrows.

You’re caught in the dichotomy of looking

beautiful  

but somehow not wanting to be noticed.

I’m sorry that you can only find

push-up bras

or extremely padded ones,

you want to de-emphasize your breasts

not emphasize them.

I think it started when Gloria Steinem

usurped Betty Friedan.