She For the Italian Novel

Somewhere in Italy

She for the Italian novel 

in which our heroine has a list of men

she wishes to be gone, somehow.

She can’t remember,

Was it blunt force,

A trauma type of wound?

Or did she let him fall,

Not over the cliff but in the tub.

How undignified but how thrilling,

The push.

She watched her form 

In the mirror,

Hair flying, he never saw it,

But she did. 

Creating blunt force trauma 

To his brain

With a, I don’t know what happened, 

I’d looked away.

Yea at myself in the mirror

Pushing him over.

She sat on the desk,

The list under her butt cheek,

Answering the detectives questions.

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Starward's picture

Although it has the form of a

Although it has the form of a poem, this poem also reads like a novel---the same forward motion driving to its conclusion.

Enjoy effulgent days and exquisite nights.


[* /+/ ^]