You shouldn’t have pressed that button,

but there she is,

thanks to parcel post,

a blow-up doll of the stalker,

Red, you called her,

the one-night stand that wouldn’t stand rejection.

Now she’s back

in your arms again,

naked as the truth,

as large as life,

perfect in detail,

even her galaxy of freckles,

and that mole on her left tit,

perfect, a ten, like the rest of the body

unlike the brain, a big zero.

Suddenly the lights dim,

just like that night when you played

connect the freckles.

The music system is blaring, too—

Yvonne Elliman “If I Can’t Have You.”

The same music wails from your cell phone.

You count to ten, twenty, thirty--

“If I can’t have you”

keeps repeating, repeating…

You answer and all you hear

is tittering, her tittering,

just like during that night,

the big turnoff.

You press the phone's off button,

 the music system, too.

But that’s no mole

It's another button,

Like the one that blew up the blow-up doll.

You always knew the right buttons to push

turning the babes on but never, never

the one to turn them off.

You push, the eyelashes flutter, the lips move.

Her chalk-squeaky voice squeals:

“Together forever, Caz and Candy, Caz and Candy,”

her name is the last sound you hear.

You shouldn't have pressed that button.