HOLDING IN HER HAND AN APPLE...

            I want your money and
your life she said stepping outside
her trite and truly off-the-rack
painted by the numbers linear life.
none of that namby-pamby wishy-
washy, flip-flop, either/or,    either.
I want it all she said, leveraging
with the addition of an air guitar.
beautiful, I'll be the goldfoil angel
wearing diamonds like glass beads,
crashing masked balls bare-faced,
cursing infants for their own good.
and I wonder why didn't I do this
  years ago

____     ____     ____

You can see the genesis of this here.  
And if you're wondering how this poem came about...

I liked the story with Jill’s prompt so much that I decided to steal it.
As a black-hearted highwayman. 
I stole the tree-fort tree and picked an apple from it.
Stuffed her leverage in my pocket, while I was at it.  My childhood was Disney-Grimm, so all the bad fairy curses turn out to have positive outcomes. And because the good fairies are indistinguishable from angels, and Jill seems like such an angellic imp, I just decked her in sequins and gold lame, and stole her off the top of the (now a fir) tree.

But, because I am only pretending, I put everything (and everyone) back the way I found it when I was through playing bandits.

big tent poetry