johnny come lately Poem by Joanne Burns

dressed down in designer
loin cloth nipples perked up
alert to the beep of her
mobile phone her johnny
weismuller mating call
(no cracking onto this
babe from anything as
naff, as obsolete as flex
cord, or liana rope, so
passé hollywood): she sucks
on her banana smoothie
holding the straw like a
poisonous dart he promised
he'd phone before one she whines
lathering her limbs with coconut
oil - if yr out there johnny get
yr groin on the line - the sun
pelts down cranky and nagging
as genital failure she needs
to chill out now into the harbour
she lopes face long and sulky
for a second a plain jane (though
a few years ago she could have
been gidget, again): she dives under
quick as a burp it's low tide
too low, not deep enough to hear
those taronga lions roar, she tears
back to her towel: it's a bore the
phone's not waterproof, she'll
have to sweat it out: give him
just - only - till four