Television

I

I bow and scrape
and bear a cock-eyed smile,
my saffron robes
and shaved head
as false as my prayers.
I slip behind you
and knife you from within.

II

A Spanish telenovela
in lurid color:
the tangerine walls wobble
as you slam the white-trimmed door.
I clutch at my decolletage
and turn my rodeo clown face
to see who's popped in.

III

"You owe who money?"
I take a drag from my cigarette
and back my high-gloss ass
out of the room. I close
the glass double-doors in front of me,
then run like Hell.
I'm not the only one.