My First Commission (“Poem me.”)

Two words, unique in thirty turns on Earth
Round-housed me like a kick ten years delayed.
I died; I rose; I contemplated birth.
She ordered me to dance, and I obeyed.
She was my first reciprocal commission,
a poem for a poem, word for word,
a spirit for a form, the definition
of quid pro quo, with interest deferred,
but her words tipped the balance, and I reeled.
How could her offer shine but weigh like lead?
Her showroom was deceptively well heeled.
She was authentic, yet I cringed with dread.
What is the price of one, young, naive song?
The singer can’t stay innocent for long.