by Brian Daly

Nightmare

Whoa-she's having a nightmare,
whimpering like a baby.
"Wake up, baby, it's OK,"
I tell her, holding tight. But
something in the dream
keeps chasing.

"Come on, Wendy,
wake up!" But she
won't come to. I shake her
by the shoulders. "Wake up!
Wake up!"
She wakes up sobbing:
"It was awful, this
big green monster"
etc.

* * *

Hey-it's like that night
early in our courtship she drank
too much white wine and kept
screaming like I was raping her.
No matter what I did to stop her
she'd look deep into my eyes
and start screaming again.
"Child is freaking," I thought.
"I'll go to jail!"

Finally I sat her on the toilet
and she smiled coyly at me
while she pissed and pooped.
After that I could handle her,
though she still had no idea
who I was.

Call me pussy, but
I guess it rattles me-
imagining a day
the wine won't wear off
or the nightmare end
and no amount of shaking,
time, or shitting
will bring her back.

from Lesbian Trapped In A Man's Body

Jan Fiering's "non-review" of Lesbian