Yin And Yang Poem by Morgan Michaels

Once I lived with Yin
Nights, we sat by lamplight
waiting for the commercial breaks on TV
Her freshly pressed dress brushed my knee.

She did her knitting. I ate the tasty bits
she slid from the micro-wave
like kisses, during
the dicier parts of Masterpiece Theater.

But one night, in a tumultuous thunderstorm
as rain rattled the windowpane
and off the roof ricocheted big hails,
the front door burst open:

In flew Yang and out ran Yin
with a shout
through the back door, holding her head-
Yang took her place on the couch
Down came her stockings.

'What's cooking? ' she drawled.
Out went the lamp.
Then Yang lit about the room
like the Northern Lights in a pizza oven

yodeling fado.
Different enough, ok-
then she did a sort of dance
gestural and symbolic;

Fascinated, I began to see things her way.
She said she'd heard of me
and wanted to see for herself;
confessed

how she'd poisoned her third husband
(it was too good)
but only to be free-
That did it.

'Whoa. too much information....'