Devil Woman

A red velvet tuxedo jacket embraces her ample, silky bust

Which threatens an avalanche of her tending.

She's locked things down with a black bra,

Its straps crisscrossing her proud heart.

She hasn't got time for unruly flesh;

Work must be done here.

She'd already assigned her sentinel the task:

Include our crew, plus the lone and the new.

"More people are coming," she remarks

To no one, yet everyone hears her,

And without fuss, the four-top and chairs

Expand to seat eight, then twelve, then more.

"What are you singing tonight?" she asks me,

Her question posed between languid laps around the bar.

I've got her full attention in this moment.

She won't abide awkward introductions, stories, or tired scripts.

I answer as my gaze travels to the velvet horns atop her head.

"That's a hard song to sing, but everybody's gonna love you here."

The Devil is a woman, I'd heard somewhere, long ago.

I remind myself it's Halloween karaoke night at the queer bar;

I've come to be enveloped by a culture I've long denied,

And she's already closing me in its ranks.

I can still feel her presence as she walks away

To stand guard over another new singer.

New arrivals move from the door, to the rail, to greetings,

Hugging everyone else first. They save her for last,

Lingering for her nod as she says each of their names aloud.

But after greetings, no one marks her.

All her labors are invisible, though I see her silver cords

Connecting every soul to hers.

I can feel mine, too, when I step to the microphone.

I'm untempted by the fruit of her care,

Though she hasn't offered much to me.

She smiles for the first time as I sing the opening vamp,

Perhaps recognizing the fellow mistress in her midst.

We savor our synchronous witness.

My number over, she meets me after another of her laps,

Giving me pointed praise: "I've never heard anyone do that one

Without fucking up something, and you didn't…"

It is kind; it is not motherly.

Our arms cross as we stand in parallel,

Sending our energy toward the next singer.

I swirl the lace in my dwindling glass of beer,

Longing to know this demon in every way--

A wraith, a doppelganger, a parent, a leader,

A visionary hellbent on including.

"Thank you," I reply, smiling at the side of her face.

We sigh as I surrender to the flames licking my leather boots.