TARGET PRACTICE
she was harpo marx without a harp
she was sally rand without
her burlesque fan
she was a slow funeral train
making its way down the track
looking for the last hunchback
she was clint eastwood
out to make your day
with a loaded gun aimed
at your groin
she was a school yard bully
with a pairing knife
threatening to whittle
you down to size
baby I can’t do the last dance
not even to get into your pants
I don’t want a ride on your rowboat
to the Bermuda Triangle
or to sit in the back seat
of your leaky canoe
listening to your play love songs
on your kazoo
and why do you insist on checking out
of the motel
when we haven’t yet checked in
you have the desk clerk confused
and I’m losing all interest in the muse
not since I ran the 440 in high school
have I been this out of breath
the range master has issued me a summons
to report to the firing range
he wants to remove the bulls-eye from my heart
you’ll have to find someone else
for target practice
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