She was a spinning top,

a whirling dervish,

a blond cliche.

More easy than profound,

more obtuse than equilateral.

Technicolor dance floor

Sizzling air.

Arcane.

Bitches in heat.

I saw her with Matthew.

he was smoking a joint,

holding it between two tobacco stained fingers.

He killed his brother with a crowbar,

but got off because they couldn’t find fingerprints.

I think Matthew’s a ghost,

or maybe a con man’s son.

She grew up with him;

his tomboy.

His toy.

His experiment.

She looks at me and smiles.

big white teeth, fixed by the dentist.

He smashed them last year

with a coffee mug that said,

‘cupid ain’t stupid.’

She ain’t stupid either.

That’s how I know she’s going to kill him,

and I’ll just smile cuz

He taught her everything he knows.