Kimiko Hahn reads
On Being Coy
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Many fish in the murky ocean caves of Mexico, Brazil, Croatia, and Oman have no eyes though in the streams outside— clear as a frat bar in ‘75— other males zip around and nip the females to test chemical signals and harass with so much sex that the females often cease to exist. Better off with a slower, blind suitor I say—then think of Marvell’s rough strife— which I adore. See—a little coyness can work to cloud the current. Those black lizard boots instead of mules— that Manhattan tourist spot. He’s twenty-five. I’m forty. He demands one thing—well, two: my feet. See what I mean? Little has changed in the carpe diem or the simmering transparent stream.