by Sugar le Fae
(first photographed by Pioneer 10 in 1973)
Strung-out among the stars,
we’ve photographed you nude
at last. It wasn’t hard.
We knew where to look.
(Galileo named you
in his little black book.)
Besides, you’ve always been
a nudist, a whore, even
before Jupiter plucked you
from obscurity, made you
famous, made you his lover.
He dragged you in,
you’ve said, by the chin—
His third wife! Third from him!
And now, finally, we’ve got,
in all its tabloid glory,
shots of your naked body.
The scars are all there,
the stretchmarks.
The wear and tear is clear.
Oh, heaven’s bartender!
habit has crushed you
into your very own moon—
sized pillar of salt—
forever looking over
your shoulder, battered
and bald. What do you care
who takes your picture?
Your molten core remembers
how to turn for the camera.
Face is all you have left to give.
(This piece was first published in Issue 19 of Assaracus.)