This happened long ago, before the onset

of universal genetic correctness.

Boys and girls would stand naked before mirrors

studying the defects of their structure.

Nose too long, ears like burdocks,

sunken chin just like a mongoloid.

Breasts too small, too large, lopsided shoulders,

penis too short, hips too broad or else too narrow.

And just an inch or two taller!

Such was the house they inhabited for life.

Hiding, feigning, concealing defects.

But somehow they still had to find a partner.

Following incomprehensible tastes—airy creatures

paired with potbellies, skin and bones enamored of salt pork.

They had a saying then: “Even monsters

have their mates.” So perhaps they learned to tolerate their partners’

flaws, trusting that theirs would be forgiven in turn.

Now every genetic error meets with such

disgust that crowds might spit on them and stone them.

As happened in the city of K., where the town council

voted to exile a girl

So thickset and squat

that no stylish dress could ever suit her,

But let’s not yearn for the days of prenormalization.

Just think of the torments, the anxieties, the sweat,

the wiles needed to entice, in spite of all.