by Drew Pisarra
In the film, Victor Frankenstein creates a mate
to wed his monster. She’s a fright-wigged she-devil
who cares little for muscles. For her, what rates
is a pretty face. In Mary Shelley’s novel
of ideas, that mail-order bride barely appears.
Disappointment belongs to the men who flee North
to Alaska, each overcome by guilt and fear.
No doubt, I’ve muddled the basic plot. Of course,
you could argue that Frankenstein is a thwarted
bromance, a tale of two doomed souls unable to
mend the rifts that come when desire drifts. What started
as a bold experiment failed. Now what to do?
I will never be the man you want me to be.
But I am still something. Please think creatively.
Drew Pisarra once worked in the digital sphere on behalf of various TV shows while writing poetry on the side. His work has appeared in Poydras Review, Thin Air, St. Petersburg Review and other publications.