Those Prostitutes in Cuba

by Mary O’Donnell

          for J S

They were like two kittens, he said,
snuggling up to him,
they were fun and they liked him.

I thought against my own sex how
enviable his freedom to fall in
with such company, then breakfast

with them afterwards, heartily, admiring
their health, their strong teeth, that
vitality. It could never happen

to a woman my age, two tiger men
who would not wound, the three of us
so human in a dusky room, sunlight

stealing through the slats in colours
from Matisse, the riotous world
within and without.