Casey Gilfillan

In the corner just before the blades, whirring
Swiftly and pushing against my advance.
The resistance is nothing for fear; the body
Proceeds, the hair stands, the fabric material
Of my skirt threatens entrance into the beyond.
Heels heed the warning, heart begs to take the
Plunge.

Where is he, the big man on payroll to
Keep peace? He’s inebriated by the stage,
Teetering and looming over the crowd.
He barrels through on whim and sadistic pleasure.
Shoving and knocking over small women
Like bowling pins; how better to display power
Than to flaunt brute force and brute mind?

It was no costume for seasonal folly,
But a guise meant to spark interest. This does
Not work, and reeks of masking properties.
The others love the show, perhaps they know not
Of your superficial farce, and the pathetic, limp
Spirit waiting in lurk behind the screen.
But I have seen what lies beneath; cornered by
The runt wolf who yearns to mingle towards his meal.

Yesterday and last weekend, now today
You linger before me with that knowing smirk
Carved into your countenance.
The smoke rises in the ring around us,
Tobacco burns and nestles against the index.
I bring the fire to my lips as you begin clamoring
Something with my name in it.

Inside and away from the thing that follows
With fervor; I flicker briefly to the trails of coat
I watched pursue my stop, perpendicular and elusive
In approach. The steel boots shadow mine
And when I stop, they do the same.
Always close and easy to spot, with the
Immersive capacity of a rabid animal you stick
Out like a sore, necrotic thumb.
Sadly, too thick for my knife.