Joy Maulitz

IN THE GYNECOLOGIST’S WAITING ROOM

Good Housekeeping? No.
Parenting? Not me.
Women’s Sexual Health?
                                                Now we’re talking.

Flipping through,
arrested by a close-up of an old woman,
way up close and personal,
right between her legs.
Two fingers pulled the lips back a bit:
                hello and how do you do.
In another magazine it might’ve been
for the avid porno wanker
but here it was for science,
and hallelujah, I was edified.
Because aside from OB-GYNs
and the lucky old geezer or Sappho,
who among us has had the chance
to study a senior vagina?
I glanced around me, grabbed hold
with both hands, and stared.
I am here to report that it looked ship-shape:
pink and moist as a baby’s gums,
cunning, nifty, trim and tidy,
like the rig of a young file clerk downtown.
No off-color, no dewlaps flapping,
this was nine square inches that could rule the world.
I wanted to high-five this vagina’s woman,
say right on, mama, you’re lookin’ fine,
but the nurse was calling my name.
I pressed the shiny folds together,
slid the magazine back into its slot,
and stepped into my rosy future.

—from Rattle #27, Summer 2007