After just her third cigarette Blondie
Had the plan. Dinner time: Pepsi, bottle
Of bourbon, too many headaches. Her man
Had fallen in love with selling beds
To young wives. The plan: kidnappers,
At X-mas, would hold him or her for ransom

Until the other could raise the ransom
By working double-shifts. Herman boxed Blondie’s
Ears. Kidnappers? Him hiring kidnappers
Was kin to a man breaking a bottle
On his head to taste the booze. One bed
To a room, his father would say. Herman

Took it a step: one to a house. Herman
Liked simple things, liked Blondie, ok. Ransom
Smelled, sure, but if Blondie thought “bedtime”
Rhymed with “danger” … He could hear it: “Blondie?
Pigeon? I miss you. I’ve got a nice bottle
Of lotion waiting—” If they were pro kidnappers

No one would get hurt. “Goddamn kidnapper
Pricks better hope they—” Blondie told Herman
She’d go first. She smiled. After three bottles
Of gin he couldn’t forget it. Her ransom:
Six months of his salary. He dropped off Blondie
At Walgreens; a kid hopped out the bed

Of a truck, grabbed her. Herman sold six beds
A day and Blondie told her kidnappers
Dirty jokes. Herman had bad dreams: Blondie’s
Hair grown to the floor, covering Herman’s
Face. Nightmares. He earned half Blondie’s ransom
By June, squeezed the cash into bottles

Under the bed. Blondie sent him bottles
Of milk (“I’m a baby?”); they went under the bed
As well. August: Herman, to count the ransom
Cash, smashed the bottles. Blondie’s kidnappers
Sent him a toe; it was plastic. Herman
Mailed them a bird’s eye. After that Blondie

Pissed in a bottle and the kidnappers
Put it on her man’s bed with a note: “Herman,
Look! I raised your ransom! Adios, Blondie.”