Not usually one for jewelry,
when she did the deed
she was wearing a lovely
bracelet her ex-boyfriend
had given her one night
after a concert that was
so debauched that even as
they proceeded down the
walkway after leaving early
they could hear the audience’s
booze. They went back to
his place where they took
turns giving aural sex,
just whispering, humming
little tune snatches
to each other, sitting outside
listening to crickets.
He took her home,
stopped too quickly
at a light and startled
her. What was that,
she said, and he said,
Those are the brakes.
It was after she learned
he still ate Captain Crunch
for breakfast that she
became a cereal killer.
She sometimes just walked
down that grocery isle
stabbing whole holes
into the sugary ones
and then she’d run like
hell into the knight, who,
chivalrously, would
escort her to safety.
This new guy, though,
had gone too far
when he suggested he
saw moats in her eyes.
Her mettle was heavy,
and she sleighed him
into packed snow and
oblivion, accessorized
into the bargain.
michael jarmer 