Last night we chose to be cartoon characters
with four fingers on each hand, a permanent
grin on our faces, or the shocked expression
from an explosion. We loved each other,
but it was always pursuit, you chasing
after me up the stairs, me scrambling
away from your embrace. You would sing
your love, a version of the Rat Pack’s tunes,
while I slithered through your hands,
trying to escape from what I was destined
to desire. Or, we would be constantly
bothered by a bully, who would steal you,
climb up a mountain or on top of a ship,
while I had to gather strength to rescue you.
The bully would throw boxes or barrels,
batter me silly with his over-sized fists.
But I wouldn’t worry about losing you.
I had seen the end many times, a song
at the conclusion that wrapped it all up.
No battering could stop my fight because
all I needed was one right hook and he’d fly,
canaries twirling around his head, tweeting defeat.
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