She Is Sci-Fi

She stripped off her
retro boots - ripped up
her nondescript Sunday suits,

trashed her ugly
dresses - burnt

the dark cuttings from
her tresses - now short
dyed ocean blue -

in futuristic design she
put on some devil horns and
a wrought iron spine of
prickly thorns -

square shades and
silver-glittered roller blades,

giant collar and shoulder fakes,
face paint and wings of snakes -
open jawed,

she flew with higher birds, and
with her sabre sword she carved out
the words in the sky -

I am sci-fi.

Stephen Philip Druce
If you have any comments on this poem,
Stephen Philip Druce    would be pleased to hear from you.