the titular bride
with her electrified hair
and jawline scars
is alive for less
than five minutes of film
time enough for her makers
to unwrap some of her bandages
clothe her in a gown made from a sheet
and introduce her to her betrothed
we’re on the monster’s side
he’s been through a lot
nearly burned to death
shot, chased through the countryside
by a mob of angry villagers
hoisted Christ–like on a pole
and, worst of all
deprived of the blind friend
who taught him booze and music
then the woman created for him
gets a look at him
she makes a strangled sound
then her screams reverberate
through the laboratory
she has no desire to be
“the monster’s mate”
(whatever the credits might say)
the weeping monster’s had enough
still, does he have the right
to pull that lever
and blow the unwilling bride
to atoms?
he’ll be resurrected
in Son of Frankenstein
and a slew of follow–ups
with ever less pathos, more rampaging
the bride won’t be invited
she hisses her derision
as if to say
this movie’s hers
and she needs less than five minutes
of film to live forever
