Red Ones, Blue Ones A trained corsetière, my aunt measured large breasts small breasts just blooming breasts over the hill breasts randy breasts shy breasts well used breasts never been touched breasts. At least once a week she spoke of her dreams.  Balloons. Always about balloons. Red ones blue ones white ones all set adrift and rising until, peak reached and deflating, they fell to the earth in soft plops. Like a late summer rain. Like the sound of a boy's gasp as he jerks off to a photo bought for a buck. Pris Campbell ©2006 Published in OCHO, December 2006 Art: My Space by Kelly Moore       copyrighted and used with permission. Kelly Moore is a self taught artist living in Santa Fe, New Mexico. See more of his work HERE. Return to Poetry Index I Return to Homepage