|
Defeat
Jean Golden
Defeat is a sultry predator,
lolling in the high grass,
her legs spread wide, exposing her belly.
Flies swim lazily in the pools
of her eyes ( mistake these not
for tears of sympathy - they have no place
in her cool equation ), as the sun descends slowly
and the winds arise.
She lifts her nostrils to the smell of invitation,
the blood black scent of weakness, of injury.
She takes her time to waken, stretching.
She rolls like a fattened dog in the field,
Licking her fur till it glistens, slippery,
her mouth a red curl, her yawn is gaping.
Her suitors wait like pimps in the distance.
They will join her later (devouring what remains of her prey, in
secret,
after she's eaten her fill. )
Her power to seduce is unrivaled, unthreatened.
Her turf is her fearless domain.
She sees with the keen, hard eyes of a hooker.
Her approach is practiced, arrogant, deliberate,
swinging her hips, her eyes unblinking.
So casual, she appears like a friend, approaching,
enjoying the play of the young and the fearless.
Her calculation is measured in feet, then inches.
She closes in, upwind, invisible, sunlight waning.
(Only the elders can see her approaching. They howl out a warning,
ignored, in the evening. )
She sets her cold gaze on the back of her victim,
her black gloved claws reach for him, desiring,
pulling him down in a frozen instant.
Mouth open, receiving his agonized spasms,
her teeth grip tight in a ravenous subtraction.
Swallowing, she struts haughtily above his limp body,
roaring with pleasure, broadcasting her victory
to the stampeding herd of the fearful remaining.
Satisfied, paid, complete.
|
