The legs of a gazelle,

The face of a statue,

The posture of a Soldier,

The Voice of the Aoede,

The Muse of Song.

Lithe and resolute,

Every song, an expression of pain.

How could John Mayer leave an angel?

She was far too good for him, anyway.

And now they have bad blood.

My daughter,

A lover of Swift’s music,

An acolyte.

Swift was sent from another dimension to shove bop into our ears.

And she may be the best there ever was.

I’m tired of the teen-pop repetition,

But I shall,

Shake It Off.

J.B. Stevens lives in the southeastern United States with his wife and daughter. He is a crime fiction writer, poet, memoirist, and book reviewer. He won Mystery Tribune’s inaugural micro fiction contest. His work has been published by Thriller Magazine, The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, and many others. He can be found online at jb-stevens.com and on Twitter @iamjbstevens.