TV to VCR
Twenty-
five
minutes
you spoke to me;
and I was cagey, caged,
like a bird in a veil.
Then you splintered
and I saw you
twenty years ago
in a friend’s rec room,
seducing the squeaky shiny sad girl who just wanted to be queen.
(She ended up being one of Bluebeard’s wives.)
And later, in a hipster flophouse,
lyrics snaking out like fishing line.
Almost invisible but strong enough to snare.
(She didn’t feel the hook or the blood on her cheek.)
Then you came into our place
and wrapped the lace around her shoulders
right at the time she couldn’t face
the thought of getting older
without a ring on her finger or
a babe in her arms.
(Her anchors, each a different kind.)
But know this:
You didn’t steal her; I let her go.
So put your lips around the razor wire
and blow.