Juliet Cook

A bonbon and a boner walked into a bar.
A bourbon ball was trapped inside the body
of a middle-aged woman. A pink chiffon swirl
challenged a burlap potato sack to a duel.
The winner gets to be wrapping paper.
The loser gets scalpeled into scalloped potatoes.
In between a pair of masochistic doll legs,

a designer vagina might be just another punch line poem.

Some of us suffer from information overload. 
Some of us can’t resist too much information
mode.  Some of us get sucked into the porn-o;
some of us get sucked into the surgical photos
in which some vaginas are docudramas,
some are soap operas, some are black holes
sculpted into softcore attention whores...






Not long ago, I found myself wondering why I had just spent a rather long time scrolling through pages and pages of Before & After photos of 'laser vaginal rejuvenation surgery' online. Soon thereafter, I realized that unbeknownst even to myself at the time, I had been conducting poetry research for a new series of poems to be called designer vaginas. This is one of them.