why write a light lyrical?
a delicate, balanced arabesque
in perfectly fitted
ballet pointe shoe?
my flat feet stomp this earth,
crush insects and plants cruelly,
my birth blood stains the garden’s soil,
the daffodils and hyacinths beneath
I am not a dancer,
precious of frame and
titillated with delight at
your outstretched champagne glass:
I slog the earth with bare hands,
feel sweat drip between brows and breasts,
the stench of labour and the rotting vegetables
I`ll leave lyrics for romantics,
swooning over fulsome ladies
manacled and twisted by their hobble skirts
let my verse annoy your history;
placental paean will yet sing for me.