A dangerous woman, thwarted
might occasionally throw things
preferably breakable
at the wall.
She shaves her pubic hair into a little triangle
for you to look at.
A dangerous woman hears the whistle of a train at night
while the baby sleeps
and wonders what it might be like
to rattle along in it to, perhaps, Oxnard.
A dangerous woman
can wield sarcasm like a knife.
She is not the kind of girl
you present to mother at Easter,
nor does she come equipped with pink slippers.
A dangerous woman
has too much testosterone to be good looking,
but enough to make her as horny as any guy
when she chooses.
A dangerous woman has opinions,
none of which are well-founded.
She sometimes forgets where she left
her diaphragm.
A dangerous woman has a nasty habit of telling you the truth
when you least desired to hear it
and lying when she needs to.
A dangerous woman is not squeamish
about bodily fluids.
When confronted by the necessity
of dealing with another big mistake,
she wishes she were dead
or dying of an incurable disease.
A dangerous woman cracks her knuckles, loudly, in the library
and crunches carrots when visiting the crypt
of some mouldering old priest in an Italian cathedral.
A dangerous woman laughs too loud,
and usually sounds like the Wicked Witch of the West
when the joke is really funny.
Sometimes the joke is really funny
but she is the only one who gets it.
4/19/96