Rhiannon’s Rival Twin

I wonder if Stevie’s white witch ever worried about
laundry or
bills or
Touchdown Club meetings

When she swirled and made magic, did her lacy bottoms
ever schlepp through piles of dog hair, or become
pasted with the mystery sludge seeping from under the refrigerator?

In my best whiny voice: Why does she get to cast spells with herbs and spices
and partake in moonlight vices?
Why do I have to play responsible girl?
Bake cookies for fundraisers and causes and reasons
until I’m blue in the face with my generosity and good attitude
“Oh, Thank Goodness for You!”

She titters at me from her pretty perch
Nobody would ever ask her to help – they wouldn’t dare!
She sucks tequila down, right from the bottle
Tongue in cheek and liquored up, perfect lipsticked lips
Swathed in the red and the black; blood of her victims
wavy, mmmmm hot-messy
periwinkle hair flows down her back
Her breasts heave high while her jeans sling low
I want purple, I want cleavage, I want to show!

I try it sometimes, I can pull it off if I hide my driver’s license
and leave the sensible shoes at home with the scrunchie and sweats
Then my kid sees me at school: drop off another check, a forgotten
uniform, an errant permission slip
He meets me in the office all up in his huff and sick with dismay,
Mom. Those shorts are too short. The other moms don’t dress that way

So, I put on my mom-jeans, and drive my mom-car with the 29 mpg and good tires
She snorts, and tosses back her heliotrope hair
her smirk snarled and toothy and discerning
She slams the throttle to the floor of that hot little number she drives
She sees that I want her; ache for her
Our eyes meet in the mirror every morning and I can’t pretend it’s not true

I attempt to be the Moon’s daughter – her forgotten sister
I grow the Belladona, cast the seeds, light the candles and get down on my knees
But then, I’m interrupted by an e-mail or a phone call or a cause and a good reason
And a laugh, a “to be continued” some other day, maybe next season

Dah-dunna-dah-dun the piano riff tone sounds on my phone
She snatches it from my clingy hands and responds with mouth open and lips licked
Slithers out of her bra and into garters and spiky heels while I find a
professional skirt and flats – I have to look smart, together, all book-ends up
By the time you see her again, it’ll be empty bottles and tangled sheets
all smelling up like him and lounging like a satisfied cat

I only looked away for a minute!Well, because, I had to do that one thing
for those one people on that one day

She bequeaths me a last glance, tosses it over her shoulder at me
You wanna do something about it?
standing in the full length mirror before going down
Fingernails tracing the lines of his torso until she finds
just

the

right

spot

I want to be special Just a little special
With great hair and killer legs and a don’t fuck with me attitude
Maybe a mind-reader, or a healer, or writer or SOMETHING other than what I am
Somebody other than the prude preoccupied with meatloaf and groceries

Who am I kidding? I’m pretty fucking cool

Not the long, cool woman in a black dress kind of cool
Not the cool chick who people write songs about cool
Maybe a different, more responsible and reliable cool
A witchy woman – a witchay woman – more Elaine than Don

She’s skilled with the glances, the perky tits, and the booze and the seduction
but I’m a producer
I get shit done
I push that nasty bitch out of my head long enough to
lure my demon lover away from her grasp and take her spot
and make him howl at the moon for a while

You could learn a thing or two, honey
I’m really good on my knees

*****

Oh friends, what a fun piece of nonsense! It all started after hearing “Rhiannon” twice during a three-hour drive down to the next work assignment. The free write began with something serious, but Rhiannon called for something else–she can be quite stubborn. So, I had to make this ornery, seductive, and waaaaay outside my comfort zone. I’d also just read “Woman of Moderation” at Anna Bequins. The raw, sensual words set a permanent camp in my brain, and I probably copied a bit. Match all of this with the fact that I’m really tempted to color my hair K-State purple…well, the rival twin was born. 

Open to suggestions and tips. This poetry thing escapes me. Most of this was written at 2 a.m. this morning 😉