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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=390077" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Rondeau at the Train Stop</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=390077" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">It bothers me: the genital smell of the bay<br>drifting toward me on the T stop, the train<br>circling the city like a dingy, year-round<br>Christmas display. The Puritans were right! Sin<br>is everywhere in Massachusetts, hell-bound</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=390077" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">in the population. it bothers me<br>because it's summer now and sticky - no rain<br>to cool things down; heat like a wound<br>that will not close. Too hot, these shameful<br>percolations of the body that bloom<br>between strangers on a train. It bothers me</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=390077" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">now that I'm alone and singles foam<br>around the city, bothered by the lather, the rings<br>of sweat. Know this bay's a watery animal, hind-end<br>perpetually raised: a wanting posture, pain<br>so apparent, wanting so much that it bothers me.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Erin+Belieu">Erin Belieu</a></strong></div>

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