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From the Unpublished Journals of Catherine the Great

June 3, 2010

Had class yesterday. Had no class yesterday. The usual story. We got 20 minutes to write an imitative poem. The poem I was assigned to imitate (=parody) had a lot of sexual and farmyard imagery, so obviously this happened:

He kissed and kissed me with his equine tongue.
I kissed and kissed him like I’ve never kissed
my human other half.

It felt like a bed
more than a barn; I’d spread
sweet straw through his stall, the air was redolent
with my royal scent—foreign fabric of my robes,
spiced perfume my husband
brought me from the Orient.

In the moment
after we came, before I left, he turned away,
tossed his mane, began to munch on hay.
I sighed, I sobbed—no, I merely asked
if any of the fillies among his pasture mates
compared to me,

and he said: “Neigh.”

In other news, there used to be a house behind the house I live in, but now there isn’t. Bulldozers have spent the past two days tearing it down. Years to construct, moments to destroy. (House is to bulldozer as novel is to reviewer.)

And as far as the weather goes, the residents of hell must be shivering in their thickest Mountain Equipment Co-op parkas today, because I have received the larger of the two large cheques owed to me by the g.d. CRA. I think I’ll buy cat litter and an editing course and save the rest of it for future groceries. High rollin’…

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