I was the monster’s woman,

And I was the plate of sympathy.

Years I obeyed, but sometimes interceded.

I ate no children, crushed

No bones, lured no one to

An unwisely scintillating end.

Except maybe one.

One I might have mistakenly peeled

And broken like a stray glass eye,

When all I wanted was merely to hammer him

And bring out the ring of restless iron.

I was not careful. In intent, no evil

Was injected, no malice prepared.

I thought I was acting out

Of considered application, and

As judiciously as an empty aquarium.

I underestimated myself.

I was the god awful ringing,

The tempest screaming in the Iron Maiden.

But I stayed with my accidental victim until

He at last casually dissolved, and kissed my shadow

One untroubled time, knowing the love

Of the indentured: jutting forth

His wounded, partitioned face

With that horrid drooling entry of

A rightfully demanding mouth,

Lips meeting mine like house pests

Stuck to the sweet of a counter top.

The monster never knew.