by Shelly Wozniak
Piece by piece he took her apart,
leaving only one letter of her name
hidden above his signature.
Nose of a pig,
eyes that cannot possibly see,
the convolution of her contour
flattened by his hand
to a pointless stroke.
Her mangled chest and hips,
reversed, reassembled
to something easily understood.
Resemblance more than real,
he would say,
compelled him to fracture the female.
She has become a conversation piece,
stripped down to the period.
If her mouth
were in the proper
place
I am sure
she would
scream.
