Two Ms. Schadenfreude Poems
Ms. Schadenfreude’s First Time
It was curiosity more than lust
that finally made her do it,
the need to see for herself if the act
lived up to all the lurid lore
of shalt nots and gotta have its
she’d been hearing her whole life,
all the hype about a hymen
she wasn’t even sure she had to lose.
She chose, for her partner
in crime, a boy she trusted
would not kiss and tell, not brag
of his exploits to too many friends,
since he, like her, had few
who would bother to listen.
So they fumbled and panted and moaned
through their few minutes of splendor in the grass—
equal parts awkward and awesome.
Then finally laid, they continued to lie
in silence, sticky fingers twined, feeling
(they agreed) less changed
than they’d expected they would be.
Still they embraced, sweet companions,
beneath the moonlit sky and sighed.
Ms. S knew that in some far-flung future
some other she’ll then call lover, might inquire
about this occasion, ask about her initiation
into this now post-virginal state
from which she can never turn back.
She made note of the boy’s smooth chest,
the rhythm of his breathing, the musk of his sweat
mingling with the sweet scent of honeysuckle
that must have been blooming nearby.
She would have to claim him forever as her first,
hold a perpetual place for him in her memory—
if not her heart—though maybe, she thought,
that’s what the metaphorical heart really is—
a kind of remembering you can never let go of,
that never lets go of you. The idea compelled her
to turn back to the boy, kiss the little mole on his neck
that suddenly struck her as endearing,
then his collarbone, his nipple, his navel, his . . .
let’s exercise some discretion here,
give the poor kids a little privacy.
We all know where Ms. S. is headed
in this moment, and how the boy
will react, how passion blooms and booms
and dooms us to further vicissitudes
of passion—that Pandora’s box
that once unlocked lets all hell break loose
in our lives. And—if we get lucky—now
and then, a bit of heaven, too—
each little death a glimpse of the god
who can make the earth move in the body.
Ms. Schadenfreude Coins a Kind of Koan
Her head is full of arguments
That she can never win.
How can a girl count her blessings
when she’s too busy fighting sin?
Or wallowing in.
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