He used to get his thrills up in the attic <br />with a Kodak Instamatic, <br />flashcube popping to illumine your legs, <br />stopping only to develop and print <br />in the darkroom, for his eyes alone - <br />safer than taking it to Boots, <br />since that's all you were wearing. <br /> <br />Then - the Internet! <br />(sings) I wanna get digital, digital, <br />I wanna get digital, let's get digital... <br /> <br />Now the world can bask in the light <br />shining off your clammy skin <br />the texture of wallpaper paste; <br /> <br />your stretch-marks (sorry, lady-lines) <br />go-faster stripes for the bits that are sagging, <br />or sag-faster stripes for the bits that are going; <br /> <br />your nipples point southward like cameras <br />telling your brain about your unseen feet, <br />eclipsed by forty years of cake deposits; <br /> <br />your anonymity <br />assured by a thin black line across your eyes, <br />betrayed by the front room decor, <br />blown by the portraits on the wall <br />and the e-mail address for comments - <br /> <br />meat: the wife.<br /><br />Wild Bill Balding<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/readers-wives/
