Love on Monster Island

Godzilla is rampaging through downtown,
tearing up more streets than summer construction crews,
when he encounters the Fifty-Foot Woman.
She looks up at him and says,
"Why are you acting out like this?
You should get some therapy."
She's a blonde who looms even larger in his memory;
they used to be lovers
until she abruptly broke up with him,
claiming her therapist thought it wasn't a good idea
for her to be dating a reptile.

But that's a transparent excuse.
Godzilla knows the real reason:
he may be a giant lizard with a brain the size of a walnut,
but even he realizes
she's gone back to King Kong.
So he lays waste to the city
with his radioactive rage.

The Fifty-Foot Woman had dated Kong before.
She complained incessantly about his fleas
and his habit of eating with his feet.
In contrast she tossed compliments to Godzilla
until his blood spun like an atom in a cyclotron.
He went to all of her parties
even though he had to sit outside on the lawn,
and he gargled Listerine by the tankful
to deactivate his nuclear breath,
and she talked of introducing him to her family
at Christmas.

But then a toxic chemical spill,
or an unfortunate cosmic ray shower
mutated her into someone else,
someone with a fetish for monkeys,
and she abandoned him deep in the Pacific.
Therapy doesn't help much
when you are a dinosaur eighteen stories high,
so he waded up the Hudson.
It felt good to knock over an office building,
really worked off some of the anger.
Then he saw her.
He was surprised how weak at the knees he felt,
not a good thing when you weigh a thousand tons;
one stumble and you crush an entire neighborhood
full of poets and postmen and couples trying to conceive.
When he sees her, standing before him
radiating beauty, radiating protons,
his tiny limbic brain rustles;
maybe she'll leave Kong and come back to him.
But then she says, "This is really inappropriate behavior,"
and he spots the Army closing in
with their missiles and machine guns.
That ball of anger and resentment in his chest flares up;
blue electric grief shudders down his spine,
and he bellows out his trademark roar
incandescent with fury and pain.
He wants smash everything,
turn women into widows and children into orphans,
leave the ruined city looking like drilled-out stumps of teeth.
He turns to the Fifty-Foot Woman,
lifts one huge clawed foot high above her---

though he is a monster, as he is constantly reminded,
he slowly lowers his foot
unzips his chest
unravels his rubbery skin
which was only a cocoon for his four-chambered yearnings
unfolds crystalline wings the size of a 747
flaps twice, circles the city
leaves her behind
flies towards the sun

a moth to the flame.