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Brice Randall Bickford
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Every Time They Tagged You
Alexandra, when you were about
To give up
Becoming a nurse
To yet another man
And you saw it was singing
Was your calling
Did your figure ever get
Out of the way
Of the power you held in
Your throat
With English pallor, ivory dress
Watching an audience
Wait and medicate
You walked out into the gels
Giving away only some
Of what you were about
Because every time they tagged you
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You knew you were out
Of overtures now
You lay at the bottom of the stairs
With glass in your hair
Drink in your clothes
With a daughter six months old
Relieved of thoughts
That you had never caught on
To the answer
To the masses
To rails you leaned upon
You would wait to be found
And this was your victory
Sleeping until your husband turned
Off the breathing machine
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