Her straitjacket stays loosely tied
above our heads (ticket complimentary).

                    She leans into a right angle
                    now acute, hesitates then her
                    running steps stride on the tightrope.

Her ex sits in the first row like a lion’s
open mouth, aghast, stares upward,
maybe anxious over aerial missteps.

                    Lighting attached to joists,
                    spots the distance down. Where each foot
                    partly shares space with the other,
                    remembers to move forward, toe-to-heel
                    and endless contortion, pushing

air ahead of every step away, the right sole in love
with the other rounding the wire. Notice, her feet
tremble, their new lack of balance tumbling her
downward in front of us, in slow motion

                    as she drops into her ex-husband’s
                    razor-shark smile.