|Trained by and on you (A French Poem)|
Let me up or else I “will” —
Thoughts seep through the plug and into the drain—
And then I know that I will be matched
Because you have me.
You have my head in the sink
My eyes turned up to the faucet, scissors in one hand.
This wouldn’t be the first time you snipped me, woman.
Your hand around the Adam’s apple
As you carve away the signs of my adulthood with your razor’s dullness
I submit to you.
The classroom ruler measures, marks your flesh
in increments that you delineated
When you inscribed your standard on me and mine.
I, your brain-child, your trained man, your perfect match?
I am become a mirror to your thoughts, your Rorschach test doubled over.
You stripped from me my animal’s hair, took the bass of my voice,
So that I might return your affections, your calls, your stares,
that I might reverse your rule in lex talionis and sit in your judgment as you control me
I conquer you.
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