Mistress

Your lady perches

On a rusty throne

Broken and ugly

Her vigilant, swollen eyes always

Watching me…every move

Waiting for one more

Moment of disparity,

The edgy scepter of doubt,

So she can move in

Be your savvy she devil

With the razor studded whip

Her grip

Brutally stitched

To your marrow

Your central nervous system

Your mangled spine.

I imagine one day

I’ll open the door

And she’ll be there

With a glass of whiskey

And a barrel of bullets

She’ll pull the trigger

Because she loves you...

Without causing a tremor or ripple

In her glass

Of Windsor Canadian North American Whiskey.