The Americanization Of Emily

Emily Dickinson on safari in Kenya,
shoots a lion, guts it, skins it,
cooks the meat on a stick campfire,

wears a bonnet made from the lion’s head,
growls and scares away the natives
who carry boxes of her bloomers

across the grasslands, the ravines,
to and away from watering holes.
Her family always knew she had it in her,

that killer instinct, viciousness, bravado,
brass knuckles, Derringer hidden in her crotch,
blood-thirsty to the bitter end,

kick you in the balls kind of Amherst girl.
But you don’t see that when you see her face
peering out the window from her upstairs room.