by Caroline Linder



 Charlie's Angels gave me faith
I'd become a woman someday,
tits & ass miracle
saving me from my sexless
horn-rimmed existence.
I'd been practising, seizing on
any clue, peering coyly over the edge
of my glasses as I sipped; I'd begun
requesting nightcaps, all rehearsal
for the world where men would
admire me, and women go squint-eyed
with envy and I'd remain cool
in my features, knowing roads
lay open to me, my brain
ticking dizzy with possibilities, cogs
grinding merrily behind the cipher of my smile.

That was the beauty of it, such immaculate
pantomime the Angels pulled;
Charlie was wise, plucking them from earlier lives
of bored model, unappreciated meter maid--
their subterfuge was the masquerade: soft
kittenish things, crazy chorus girls, an occasional
bespectacled shrew, unsuspect in the guise of femininity.

O beautiful angels of agency, shifting
identity, your curvy sihouettes
backlit by explosions;
I'm grown now, and practiced,
equipped with the accoutrements of womanhood.
I wait to fan the flames, and how lovely
I'll look--twin conflagrations pooling up
in my eyes, moving
my mouth as I please.
All I need is the cue
to fish the gun from my purse, delicate
elegant snubnose snug in my hands, arms
straight, legs locked to the ground, pumping
lead to the target; you must
understand: I am ready.



"Invocation" © 1996 by Caroline Linder

Original Graphics © 1996 by Jim Davis-Rosenthal



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