Jules Wood
​

Stripper Strike!

                                                                                        After Morgan Claire Sirene’s “SESTA
                                                                                        Vs. Stormy Daniels” for Tits and Sass
I have only been a victim in my sweet
civilian bed, fresh sheeted,

a dream dying in my flexors, overstretched
from his pointed weight.

I smeared on his chest a bit
of vestibular blood, marked him

guilty. Back to work hustling hours
in my paid-for pillowtop

dominion, every smack and squelch
sounds like rent against my body.

The last time I felt shame it snagged me
like a hangnail

and yet to be called a whore is social
death for a working woman:

suddenly rent comes due
every time she shuts her eyes to rest,

dares to dip into the arrested revenue
stream she once called sleep.

Now there are only victims and criminals
and employees

must wash hands. I’m a contractor,
my hands are everything
​
I’ve touched, if not everything
that’s touched me.
It's Not that I Can't Take the Pain! It's the Shame
                                                     after “Bloom, Pig!” by Kim Hyesoon

my mother said there’s no name for where I’m going
no place for me to rest my life’s gooey splatter
no meaning to derive from my hedonic thrills

my friend asked if I would prefer to be called Mommy or Madam
no one calls you Miss or Ma’am to put you in a place of power
if in Hell they call me Mommy I will have won

this manager would forklift out our sweaty skivvies
before he twitched a lotioned finger
no rest in here for stirring stirring shit no rest in here for neon

a civ would need a magician’s secret rope, but I’m in show biz
I get good grip and lift my manager overhead
I can prostrate before an ego and outstretch my tithe, my dankest ounce

my every hole filled to yawning with his ideas
bursting supply and yet I can guess no gamble
with psychic force he wants me Mommy

at night I bite my hand until limp wristed
handcuffed to my own trimmed neck
best to be a happy pig a happy pig a happy pig
​
I dangle my ghost, my haunting privileges, like keys to a new Kia
where does one even buy that big red ribbon
--
Jules Wood is a queer poet, performance artist, and teacher living in Chicago. She is currently in her third year at the Program for Writers English PhD program at UIC and holds an MFA in poetry from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Her poetry has appeared in Berkeley Poetry Review, Lana Turner Journal, and Nat. Brut, among other journals.