Q - The corruption of the state

Peto, you must stop impersonating me
I have seen you practicing the steps
I know you dip your fingers onto my tongue at night
squeezing them over your own like wax
for a Duke's seal. I know you put me to sleep
with gunpowder, then massage Bonjella
over my chest, as if for Ultrasound
You cut into my breasts and put in ice packs
sew it up and hover like a potter
pressing here and there to enhance the symmetry
afraid that I might wake up lopsided
(I know because it is cold there in the afternoon
like my breasts have been liberated by some hungry nuclear
government)
You are using me as a profession
You are sick of doctering yourself; it must be
a rummage through the dustbins
You are tired of being chased down the street
Leave me
Leave my laces undone and trailing
in the exhaust of public buses