Psycho Chick

Psycho Chick


I was off stage for less than a minute
when she appeared from the club’s dark corner:

the psycho chick

She grabbed my lapels,
bit earlobes, whispered stories
of Helen of Troy, rollerblading
and the joy of duct tape

We made our way toward the bar
drank Grand Marnier
sucked face, necks and fingers for a while,
went to the car, steamed up windows,
then kissed goodbye

Three days later
I committed the horrible crime
of calling her back
for more duct tape
and more dirty Helen of Troy

I told her she was a nice girl,
that I enjoyed her company,
after cutting through the small talk
we agreed to meet again

me and the psycho chick

I took her to see a country western band,
bought drinks and lit her cigarettes
we were the perfect couple,
men tipped their hats,
women smiled with approval

But it wasn’t too long
before the psycho chick
began to laugh wildly,
flicking cigarette butts
at the band as they played
Johnny Cash and Loretta Lynn

I told her it wasn’t polite to do that,
they may take it as an act of disrespect
and start trouble with me,
because in the south, when a woman insults a man,
they beat the boyfriend up

She rolled her eyes,
lit another smoke
and told me I was pathetic

she reached toward my middle
and slowly squeezed
until I was blue in the face

then, from under her skirt,
she pulled out a switchblade

First my fingers,
then my eyes, and the rest of me
in thirty seconds it was all over,
there I lay: a pathetic pile of man-bits

she rubbed her palms,
clicked her heels
and crept back to the club’s dark corner

The band finished, the singer bowed
then he slowly moved to the club’s dark corner
oblivious to the impending doom
awaiting him in the form of

the psycho chick



copyright, Frank Messina, 2002