“From His Coy Mistress” by Ashley Anna McHugh

“If only we had time enough,” he said,
“Your coyness would be fine. Of course I’d wait.
But, honest to God, we don’t.” I took the bait,
and took his hand, and led him to my bed.

Once I let him have his sweet-tongued way,
time didn’t run. It yawned. Dry, dull and vast,
eternal deserts stalled the sun. Eyes glassed,
I waited while he dove on me like prey,

adoring–just a bit too much–each breast,
but never looking in my eyes at all.
Rolling our strength and sweetness to a ball
took fifteen minutes, maybe, at the best.

So gentlemen, fill me in: If there’s not time
for decent sex, how’s coyness such a crime?

Poem was originally published in
E-verse radio

Ashley Anna McHugh is the winner of the tenth annual New Criterion Poetry Prize.