No

I wake in the mornings

to find the city at my window,

a giant mouth

that’s forgotten how to close.

The telephone rings,

each ring a reminder

that I have been detected,

that I am She

whose e-mails pile up unanswered,

whose checklists grow

tangled,

matted,

unchecked.

She who is never on the right platform.

She who turns away

from importunate hands at car windows.

She who smiles when she doesn’t mean it.

She who didn’t vote at three elections.

But what no one guesses

is that it is She who after sundown

stalks the dark alleys,

hungry to annihilate anyone

who seeks to tame her

with clammy malarial tentacles

of guilt.

And on full-moon nights

She even dares

to look the world

square in the face

and say

no.