Wednesday, 1 December 2010

SJ Fowler

{Jus Primae Noctis}

He could’ve been a colonel in the army.
King of the moth squad,
with his great grandfathers name, easily he could.
But he was not born on sacred soil.
He looks the part, but only just.
She can shut her knees all she wants.
This memory of military degradation has returned
him to sense. He is no rapist!
He has never been a man who needed to take
anything by force.
Just because he has the stomach for it (who doesn’t?)
does not mean that he would.

She opens her legs in pain and he stabs the blade
into her inside thigh. He cannot hear her shout.
The spray is fine at first and he has to stand
away to not get doused in the blood.
She will loose consciousness and though they will not
be able to save her,
they might try beyond the blue still living,
which will look better on the news.
The artery has opened up now.
The blood is coming in ways he did not know it
could. The body is forceful & final.
It will soon pool about the entire toilet. His
distraction is theft.

1 comment:

Peter Greene said...

'His distraction is theft.'

Yes, I like that. we're all fountaining our last breaths all the time. The observation is well placed.

Thanks for the poem - a strong one.