Iron
Maiden
I can’t
help the spikes that pierce my eyes;
Something like the bit lifts up my smile.
Fingers scream out in all directions,
feet arch, unnatural pigeon toes.
This cage was rolled on like a coat of paint,
its sticky unwelcome embarrassing embrace
Curving out hips, breasts,
A brace of lead along the spine.
Your glance slants apart, searching out the safer ground,
Seeking what I told you once:
Looking right tells lies.
Now my mouth is full of harder stuff
There’s scarcely room to breathe,
tongue gummed against the metal
where teeth once poked out to the sun.
It all seems rather medieval,
this mechanical digression
But the cart’s my own invention.
The wheels set us in motion—
My pretty cage and I.
Copyright © 2009 Jennifer D. Ryan