In the Galleria dell'Accademia


A low hum moves the air. A ringing click
when I turn and my heels hit the tile.
I see in the dark. I drop seven veils
as I dance to him.

He stands there, one cocky hip thrust
to the side. He refuses
to look at me. I crawl
onto his pedestal. I suck his toes.

His slow marble thoughts are this:
look, Delilah, look, Judith. I have stood here
five hundred years with my elbow up and
this sling slung over my shoulder and
I am not about to move
for you, Medusa.

I rest between his knees
and hang onto his thumb
until my neck is pressed against his thighs
and I stand, curl my fingers
in his hair.

I kiss his mouth. I cover it with my hand,
cup his nose in my palm and
squeeze. He stands there and refuses
to look at me.

Now I am towering above him.
This tribune isn't big enough
for the both of us. I make my hands
into fists and I wait for him
to hit me

right between the eyes.


(september 2006)