they were all part man: ghost
man, man-slime, man-of-war
locks, and what have you.
it was some convention
they looked forward to,
an annual thing, you know.
and I seemed to have crashed
among the passions. the outfits–
costumes?–were glorious
in detail, very intricate, yes,
a lot of money. and (did I mention
they were all men?) did you know?
when the lights went out,
that was on purpose. and I, my
car broke down with care,
it had been a trap. they needed
one careening damsel that night.
wouldn’t you know, my little peugeot
probably screamed ‘sabotage me.’
it happened at the rural station off
the switchback, perhaps. ah, well
now I am scrambling over this
rain blasted peak, at nigh on
midnight, (in heels)
while this secret fraternity plays
their dangerous game.
the romanian language folklore
festival dedicated to academic
curiosity and rigor had been a ruse,
and the scariest thing of all
is that none of this would count
toward my degree… one more
weekend, creditless, full of unwanted
advances and a fair amount of ennui.