Readers' Wives Poem by Wild Bill Balding

He used to get his thrills up in the attic
with a Kodak Instamatic,
flashcube popping to illumine your legs,
stopping only to develop and print
in the darkroom, for his eyes alone -
safer than taking it to Boots,
since that's all you were wearing.

Then - the Internet!
(sings) I wanna get digital, digital,
I wanna get digital, let's get digital...

Now the world can bask in the light
shining off your clammy skin
the texture of wallpaper paste;

your stretch-marks (sorry, lady-lines)
go-faster stripes for the bits that are sagging,
or sag-faster stripes for the bits that are going;

your nipples point southward like cameras
telling your brain about your unseen feet,
eclipsed by forty years of cake deposits;

your anonymity
assured by a thin black line across your eyes,
betrayed by the front room decor,
blown by the portraits on the wall
and the e-mail address for comments -

meat: the wife.