She is Little, But Fierce

 

She is Little, But Fierce

 

She is little, but fierce, you praise her well,

because she smiles upon those little lies you tell,

and everything, in the end, is balanced.

 

You were small when you learnt to deceive

to avoid panel beatings you often received,

meted out in kind correction; on reflection

it mostly failed, but was always worth a go,

because his punch to the ear, nose or throat

and that way your head seemed to float

in bright sick pea greened lightning flash,

boomed as loud as grand piano lids crash,

swimming the sea, swimming for shore

and how did you find yourself on the floor?

 

Ah, you felt betrayed in leaked liquid,

don't give him any satisfaction; better a smirk,

dust yourself down with a wink and flirt

to that unseen cosmic audience, take a bow,

you’re older, but there’s a little left of that now,

take solace in her knitted turtleneck brow,

you can only get away with what she’ll allow.

 

Oh, it starts here, same as it ever did

in words that beat repeating.

Those little deceits you laugh off as jokes

coiling down yarns and little enough rope

for hanging around her, sporting four poster eyes

and licked lips, unpursing all your sweet little lies,

in words well learned because you’ve earned it

by giving his ancient noose the slip.

 

Pitched it down, slung it over your shoulder,

tore chains from necks and cast-off boulders,

to come dashing away with smoothing iron words,

murmured lovers' best cliches that love ever heard.

 

She is little, but fierce; praise her well,

because she smiles upon those little lies you tell,

and lessons learned by wooden spoons

on slack skinned tom-toms beating tunes,

once played with a grimace of well-honed talent

because everything, in the end, is balanced.