Muse

she says she can deconstruct a come-on

faster than even the smoothest stud can speak it

and dissect the various empty styles of swagger

flaying con gusto those that most offend her,

the words hanging strangled mid-air and

judged. have you heard her?

she says she can dance a tango solo

across a waterfront thronged with partiers

dodging cyclists, trash cans and seated beggars,

accordion players and street preachers. her music

a full moon. storefronts and streetlamps her all ways

lighting. have you seen her?

she says she can distinguish no fewer than fifty perfumes,

name the designers of outfits seen in passing on the street,

source the finest weed available in any metropolis,

sense the mood of the crowd before it turns,

and find her way home unescorted and

safe. have you met her?

she claims to know the thoughts

troubling the mind that you leave

unspoken. do you believe her?