Three Sluts At Dinner

Around the oak table in the secret light of candle stubs,
Three faces coming to a reunion, three sluts of yesteryear.
This is the way they describe themselves, not me.
Between them, they've had hundreds of men, in their day,
Which was years ago, athough still now, at least one of them,
She is still very much at it. Prefering young professors,
The more esoteric knowledge the better. And above all, German.
Although she is Jewish, spanking the ghosts of Bergen Belson.
Is it that inexplicable pleasure in being told
you are a goddess,
By the sons of soldiers, feeling that heaviest of German artillery
firing right into your mouth, round after round,
incarnation after incarnation...
Or is it an Old Testament need to catch the bad seed
before it can take root somewhere
Else... somewhere more fertile, more deserving even,
more in the spirit
of Munich games, more supple truth to tell....
So yes, she gets her power
however she can, and when the conversation turns to a Berkely
Hot tub, a secret speakeasy for sex under the redwoods,
And one of the others makes a joke about the Jewess's predilection
for professors, she put her old friend right down.
"Professors weren't into you, truck drivers right?" Said
with a carefree bitterness you sometimes find
in childless women of a certain age.
had interest in you..."