Swallow

Swallow

 

She thinks in lioness, bares her teeth

not her breasts, and there’s no relief

from a badly pronounced tirade

of ticker tape parade in spittled diatribe -

calls it as she sees it and we squirm.

The paddles of the milk churn turn,

but no butter’s here to melt her mouth

or do anything with parsnips, no drought

to drain the drivel surging out,

no cool whirlpools, just waterspouts.

And if she you think she might relent,

the carcass killed, her venom spent,

here’s a hijabed cub with pints of tears

of how there’s scars from cruel years,

such tales of woe, such tales of harm,

to quicken the mother, raise alarms

and bring to bear all the big guns

that turn on turrets, bombard and shell,

and send adversaries to hell.

You? You’re idly wondering, sitting there,

why it is you should actually care

whilst dodging the gobbed projectiles,

an inner examination of fundamentals -

as jets are screaming overhead

strafing bombsites, craters, dry riverbeds -

illuminate a veritable doomscroll

of spreadsheets for whom the bells toll,

while thinking, performance management?

Been there, done that, paid the rent

and here’s another tossed off session

of training on how to teach a lesson,

you’re feeling it build inside, in solid hollows,

ah, fly away, and swallow, swallow,

dry your tears, my dear - smile and pray

and hie thee to the mosque and say

we’ll live to swallow up other days.