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