Strength comes in numbers—pick 1985,
the summer of New Coke and the death of Supergirl
when your needs consisted of
puffy stickers and microwaved corn dogs.

When you went out at night
afraid only of vampires, werewolves
and the legend of Bloody Mary,

repeating the rosary
on your way home.


Keep to those simple worries,
let them shadow large.

Cling to that impossible unknown,
its rules changing to your will.
Vampires won’t bite if you sing
"Come on Eileen," the louder the better.
Can’t attack anyone wearing pink—
when you are wearing pink.
Other days underwear labeled
with the day of the week are your talisman.

The werewolves know you stole your best friend’s
glitter pencil, the only acceptable atonement
thirteen paint-by-numbers of
St. Hubert blessing the deer.

But what to do with Mary
when she only comes if you ask?
Just you in a darkened bathroom
fixing on the medicine chest mirror,
waiting to see what appears.