Medusa

I sometimes think I am a down-to-earth
kinda chick
with my feet just a little
up in the air.
Then I read a poem of my friend's friend.
She writes about her childhood fears,
grinding desire,
her man's dirty underwear
and a car she drives.
Then, after reading it,
I realise I am a mid-ocean Medusa
(how red-haired Georgia called her baby pink snake)
floating in the water.
Every now and then I am
brought ashore
but land transport tires me
to death.
Then I skim through La Redoute catalogue:
colours, patterns, lips, legs and hips.
Watching through the window
I am estimating conditions for
some uphill recreation
while I am picking my toenails
eating creamy yogurt
and waiting
for husky waving
to rock my tentacles
so I can stretch as a light
aqueous creature.