He built my pedestal
in seven days,
seven nights.

He had a God complex, some said.

Used cement swiped from a site
down the street.
Polished my crown with his tongue.

Honeysuckle vines grew from the sky,
circled my breasts, my thighs.
Elvis left the supermarket
to croon Love Me Tender,
each night.
No snake appeared, but

my crown toppled off
and the pedestal crumbled,
tossing me hard to ground.

When I whimpered, he shrugged,
Love can be blind, like
the man begging quarters
on Forty-second Street.

My lover stole those quarters
for a train straight to Georgia,
built a pedestal for a woman
with flames in her hair.
Her howard hughes toenails
gripping the concrete,
she wondered just how long she had
before the swift rains came,
dissolving her own goddess gown
into pools of spangles to float
down some other sweet gal's street,

Pris Campbell
©2006

Photograph by Sue Baker Wilson of Katikati, NZ, and graphic modification by Pris Campbell.


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