Sunday, September 20, 2009

A feminist poet, prior to howling

She-wolf speaks softly,
not snarling, no growls
as you might expect,
the sibilance instead
of that one who had you
expelled from Eden,
no restless padding
back and forth, red eyed
tongue hanging,
she hides her teeth
behind soft phrases.
The compulsory expletive
comes and goes
as if by accident
with a knowing twinkle of the eye,
a subtle shift of hips,
swift licking of the lips.
A neat metaphor is punctuated
with a deep sigh
and a heaving of breasts.
Somewhere, out of sight,
a pair of twins hang
on her every word,
whilst we, like unsuspecting lambs
struggle to remember
the warning we just heard.

After a fine evening dedicated mostly to female poets, one performance stuck in the mind for all the wrong reasons. You could say this was all in the mind, but there were mainly women in the audience and I’m confident that they would recognise this picture.

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