Friday, June 02, 2006

Black Widow

She undresses dresses nightly to the soft hoot
of hidden owls and tinkling wind chimes.
Perfumed and breathless,
she opens her arms to her new lover,
the old ones drained and scattered like
untended leaves in her trail.
They finally return to tired wives waiting
with burnt coffee and eggs
or empty apartments with beds
they can no longer bear to sleep in.

Her yard is littered with crumpled love poems.
It glows with spilt blood.

She spins silken tales for this new love,
weaves him closer with each word,
talons still hidden, demeanor as meek
as a coward's shadow.

He's a dead man walking, but
nobody's told him yet.

Pris Campbell
(c)2006

10 comments:

tom said...

good one, pris

loved the way you ended it

know a couple of people like this

Pris said...

Thanks, Tom. I've known a few like this, too.

pepektheassassin said...

Hey hey. Maybe she should 'undress' nightly to those sweet owls.... Nice poem.

Pris said...

Hi Pepe
There's a thought. She could rush out nude. Now THAT would start those owls hooting:-)

Geoff Sanderson said...

My oh my - 'dead man walking'; what a killer ending! I love these black, bitter poems of yours - especially the ones like this, with a sting in the tail; or is it the lady who has a sting in her tail ...?

Pris said...

thanks, go...think the sting is in both places :-)

Pat Paulk said...

"Luck be a 'lady' tonight"!! At least in the short term he's a lucky guy. beyond that, "dead man walking". Love this!!

Pris said...

Thanks, Pat...yep, at least he has his moment of blazing glory first;-)

mouse said...

Erotic, exotic, with a hint of toxic. Very nicely done!

Pris said...

Hi mouse
An apt description, and thanks!