Attack of the Fifty-Foot Woman by William Miller

A girl, a woman grown too big,

looms above the man-made world.

A beaker filled with noxious green liquid–

a botched experiment by men in white lab coats–

was drained by accident…

Loose in the street, she steps on roof tops,

crushes picket fences and neat gardens,

picks up cars driven by men five minutes from home.

The police are helpless, run in wild circles,

whistle for order.  The preacher prays

to a god he no longer understands.

Only the housewives revel in her size,

secretly hope she never shrinks back

to her place at the too-hot stove,

beside the noisy crib.

Her horror turns to black delight

when the truth is plain as her giant hand,

breasts the size of mountains:

she has no mate, no match in this movie,

no husband to tame her worst desires.

Alone, red hair flaming, she gladly pays

the price of being her, a woman,

fifty-feet tall.

William Miller’s seventh collection of poetry, “The Crow Flew Between Us”, was published by Kelsay Books last fall. His poems have appeared in The American Poetry Review, The Penn Review, Shenandoah, Prairie Schooner and West Branch. He lives and writes in the French Quarter of New Orleans.