How a woman makes her own wine

What woman doesn’t want a vat of men
to herself? To burn her bra and skivvies
after another week in go-go boots
and paisley. Slather herself with red grapes

and penises during a three day bash
of skin and loud music—stomp grapes for wine
that won‘t be drunk. What woman doesn’t want
to bottle that piece of her untamed self?

Save it for an unexpected evening
with a childhood friend. Light up the memory
of that vat in the Birdsall’s yard under
the eucalyptus, oak, and some blonde guy.

What woman wouldn’t want to savor her
wild flavor, boastful and masculine, long
after wicked has become laughable,
abandon, the secret curl in her lip?

Published: Tidal Echoes, UAS Literary & Arts Journal 2009