i wanted to meet
a man from earth
so i sculpted his face from clay,
upturned toward the light of day.
narrow, long and gray, handsome
he was but stubborn like a mule,
his tilted eyes full of constant mirth
wide and eager to challenge my rule.
i placed a bendi dot between his brows,
something he'd need to recite our wedding vows.
skin smooth as water,
flowing over high cheek bones
his broad smiling mouth, full of song
freely speaking but not unlike a crone's
his aquiline nose discerning
right from wrong,
as for his ears,
i've shed many tears,
they were forgotten,
a sad deterrent
chin like an otter,
in the rising current
his neck, thick and strong
but deep in his throat
adam's apple feels rotten
and barely afloat
so out come the words,
like a goat,
like turds
in herds,
sure, i've got 'er –
but marriage is for the birds.
so i placed him
below the stairway
and waited for the rain
to wash away my man of clay
but to my surprise and dismay
he was determined to stay,
for the ground was soft where he lay
and in him sprouted a piteous pain
it grew mighty fierce until
he felt his heart it would pierce
a stranger feeling was not to be had
he thought he would go quite mad
he screamed and the neighbors thought him insane
or better yet that I had become ill,
his voice so high pitched and shrill…
but still bloomed this curious vine,
creeping and pushing down his spine
he shouted, "kill me now or do it myself, i will!"
so i found a small clump of clay –
the last remaining bit
by the back porch,
and fashioned a healing charm
to keep him safe from harm
of all sorts
a bright torch
I'd lit and tied it
into his shorts…
he awoke the next day
and with chortle of glee
got down on his knee
singing, "will you please, marry me?"
i looked in the mirror,
examining my exterior,
i saw that my face had become ashen gray
i shook my mane
his pleading in vain,
and tossed my horsey head to say,
not on your life
will i be your wife!
then i ran away
far into the hills upland
where no mare
ever ought dare to stray,
he followed me begging for my hand
i neighed, nay! not even if i was drowning in quick sand!
i turned the tables
and lived in stables
i even ate hay,
but i would not marry him,
no way, never
no how –
not now!
2.07.08 ©agn
