I have big boobs
I oil and lotion them
Poke them and preen them
Squish them into XL sports bras
The size of a minivan
And still have to push down
The third bump in the middle
I smash them
Into bras made for "full figures"
(A euphemism for women the size of
Fat Albert, Divine and Mae West (in her later years)
all in one)
I hook them and lift them
I underwire and miracle them
Every morning I tame them into the
Confines of a sensible $45 Olga 38DD,
Shape them into double-layered beige underwire
And a hint of feminine lace
I check to see if nipples are where
Nipples should be
I thank god for minimizers and
Anonymity and pray that today
They do not bounce overtly while
I lecture to impressionable horny young freshmen
Or go over speedbumps
Or look for change at the soda machine
I cover up with sensible t-shirts that
Don't gap, don't pull
Stretchable fabric
To stretch over
To camouflage
my subterfuge
my non-secret.
I have large breasts.
This should not be a problem
A true woman, a true feminist is supposed to love her body
Like the temple of luxurious femininity that it is
But they are a problem since
The chest of femininity, of the liberated, sleek
21st century uber-woman who has
The Sex-in-the-City career and matching guy and
The black Chanel No. 5 cellular phone
is
FLAT
Not just flat, concave
No womanly curves, this icon is lovely in
Strapless tops and strappy tops and no tops and
Pedal pushers and capri pants (in which her ass doesn't look
humongous)
She is all masochistic seriousness, tottering around in Prada
spike heels and
camisoles,
A bra-less wonder, unsaggable breasts perfectly sculpted
By the masters - thighmaster, stair master, masters of plastic
surgery
Liberated from brassieres, she smiles at you
from Gap ads and United
Colors of Bennetton saying
Yes, you can have it all too,
Sex appeal AND equality
You can join the revolution
Of the sisters of perky, pancake breasts -
No need to burn your bra, sister!
Just lift them
Saline and silicone them
Just chop
them
off
Needless to say I do not fit into this picture
I do not fit into their baby t's
Their tailored suits
I am not one of the Evian culture who
Has traded body fat for freedom
I am Germaine Greer trapped in
Marilyn Monroe's body
Susan Sontag in Jessica Rabbit's
Va-va-va-voom, quoting The Female Eunuch
while my boobs sidle up and whisper
"I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way"
I am lush and earthy and curved
I was meant for evening gowns and
Long evening gloves and
Evenings
I have a large head
Heavy brain
Big hands
Big feet
Big eyes
Big mouth
Big teeth
Big ears
Big nose
Long legs
Big ideas
Big dreams
but all these pale in comparison
to my magnificent bazookas -
Austin Powers' bullet-shooting
Boob-babes ain't got nothing on me -
I can out-gun them any day
I have prodigious hooters
They are undeniable, somewhat oblong now, pulled down
By gravity, the right a little bigger than
The left. The nipples are round, aureole huge
Pinkish tan
They are active in the afternoons,
Sweaty beneath the Olga layers
They are treasonous, bouncing no matter what I do
To subdue them -
Flashback to 1993
A voice teacher, Ichabod Crane in drag
Catches me by the chest and shrieks
"You are a big woman - you should have a big voice"
gripping the nipples like headlights
Like a particularly lumpy steering wheel
Implying my breasts should give me the operatic range
Of the fat lady who sings
To those unlucky bastards at the end of their line
All I could think was that for a gay man
He knew exactly how and where to pinch the most optimal areas
For sensitivity
and that
I've never
been able
to
sing.