The Opium Den
My feet were up, uncomfortable in thick-soled winter boots
While the sedative coursed through my nerve endings.
I remembered firmer feet in high-heeled summer shoes,
Clicking in time to an inner pulse.
A breeze over the Fox River falls cooled the back of my neck.
My bra was tight, my white nurses uniform snug against my slim ribcage.
Seventeen, heading for a Saturday job as a dental assistant,
I might have warranted the remark of my married sister’s admirer,
“Ravishing,” he said, as I sashayed by. And I probably thought
The hunger for loving ravishment mine to control.
But breathing the nitrate can’t erase the fact I am
Seventy plus, looking forward to my first firm bite
After receiving four front and shiny new teeth implants.
