I’ve already seen you
And I already know
Everything there is
To know about you
Hear the thunder
Of my cowardice
Rake upon your body
My thunder and my cowardice

I swear upon this hand
That if you find some girl
Along the way
I’ll take upon myself
To amuse her
Until it is the time
To console her
For my sorrow and her cruelty

But listen and have mercy—
It’s entirely her fault
Not mercy upon her, then,
Mercy upon me, then,
Already you have heard
It is entirely her fault
That she’s learned
Everything I didn’t need
To have her learn
Enough to tremble

I will avenge her wrongs
I mean, the things she
Brought upon me
I’ll avenge upon myself
To console myself
From myself
And dry her awful lashes
On my hand

My love is an aversion
Eligible for taxation.
Seventy I have loved
In the northern city,
Ten years of affliction
Is not enough, I thought
To myself, for the seventy.

Eighty you have loved
Eighty in the eastern city,
Not even enough
You thought to yourself
For my seventy—my friends
Have loved my own seventy!
What for my friends
Who loved my own
Seventy, then, what, then!

I’ve already seen you!
And I already know
Everything there is
To know about that violin!
Put down that violin and ice
Your exhausted proboscis.
You’re dead if you move
To block the liar’s boar
From charging at my breast

Protector of thieves, my breast
Repeats the ancient song
To kill a tiger, throw it
To the dogs!
To kill a tiger, throw it, throw it
A marvel it will be
We’ll laugh and joke
With such fraud—
Throw it to the dogs!

I want to think I’m dying
In every direction
I want to depart
Through every possible door
Look out if you touch me
And wait for my blows
A storm is gathering my effects
You’re dead if you move
To block the liar’s boar
From my shooting coward’s arrow
Friend, what is an animal, friend
But a cubit to measure my groin

The kindness you could show me
Could move me
To persecute me, a libertine
With his beard of friends
I’ll swear it by this hand
My autoharp I’ll play to ruins
And surrender you
My friends, this hand and throat
My prize, this sword of relatives
That long, my wealth and lovers
A catalogue of broken faith.

A faithful love must yield
Put down the violin
And with this harp invite
Your standing giant in to dine
And with this breath
Protector of thieves
Command to him from memory
This catalogue of broken faith—
My friends, their lovers’ hands
My prize, this fraud, your faith, my life
You’re dead if you move
My bust of Mercury
No marvel it will be

No marvel it will be
Your giant I’ll invite
To dine with you, you, libertine
With your beard of friends
You and you and you and you
Speak loudly and stay
Speak loudly to us and stay with us
To see us on our way
To nothing, together
We shall win the title of Bluebeard.
It is ours already
Already you have heard
We win the title of Bluebeard.

Macgregor Card received a B.A. from University of California, Santa Cruz, and an M.F.A. from Brown University. "Together We Shall Win the Title of Bluebeard" is from a recently completed manuscript, Duties of an English Foreign Secretary. Work has appeared in publications such as Best American Poetry 2007, Puppyflowers, Fence, The Recluse, Columbia Journal, Lungfull!, Aufgabe and others. He edits The Germ ( germspot.blogspot.com) and Firmilian: A Spasmodic Knowledge Base (firmilian.blogspot.com). He was recently buried alive with four poets in Prospect Park for Karl Krauss' "Earth on Stone on Earth Is Naturally So."