April 22, 2015

Ann Bogle

—photo © Ann Margaret Bogle, 2015

Comme Ça
I went on a Match dot com date with an interesting fellow who works as a ____ for a ____. His ____ escaped ____, later met his ____ in ____. They are ____ and ____, his ____ now passed and his ____ about to move. He has hobbies as a (long-time) ____, ____, and ____. Nice guy, never married, no kids, fifty-something. Good correspondent by email, gentle presence. So why am I so romantically disinclined, not only toward him, but toward all men except in dreams? I never dream of sex with women.  I once dreamed of refusing to kiss a woman. I remind myself sometimes that I evaded lesbianism. I still would evade it, and the gay women, as they call themselves now, if they are still political, would evade me for having chosen heterosexual privilege. I like to listen to average women talk about beauty and fashion. I think average women are fascinating and foreign. Average men seem imposing, despite my tact with them. Only exceptional men are of interest, and they are never far from being “spoken for.”

See “Unmailed Letter to B’go” on Fictionaut, July 4, 2012: http://fictionaut.com/stories/ann-bogle/unmailed-letter-to-bgo


Ann Bogle's collection, Country Without a Name, includes "Mariposa," "Virgo," and "Hysteria," which appeared earlier in Camroc Press Review.

1 comment:

David N. James said...

Ann, doing her thing. I love her often puzzling work.