The business woman hunts you
in a dark forest.
She’s got a head on her shoulders.
She’s not that much older than you.
The business woman haunts you.
In the past, you’ve heard her say,
‘If the evil got into my arm
I would cut it off.’
The business woman hounds you.
Her crossbow aim is deadly.
You know one bolt to the heart
is all it would take.
The business woman hunts you
and there’s light in the forest.
Everything is strangely clear
when you realise...
Christine Della Vedova (Western Australia)
An independent poetry journal. Watch your step.
Showing posts with label Christine Della Vedova. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christine Della Vedova. Show all posts
2016/01/20
2014/09/16
A Calf's Choice
CHOOSE!
CHOICE!
CHOSEN!
Herds of cattle sweep the plain
Running too fast for the weedy calf
They’ve run out into the sunset
The trampled foliage marks their successful passage
The calf contemplates – what’s a gal to do?
CHOOSE!
Which way? Well trodden? Off the beaten track?
CHOICE!
The calf trots. Then runs. Then gallops for her life.
CHOSEN!
The tale is over. The calf gets killed for her milk, skin, meat, anyway.
How pointless! you yell.
Yes.
You’re right.
Apologies for pointing out the obvious.
Christine Della Vedova (Western Australia)
CHOICE!
CHOSEN!
Herds of cattle sweep the plain
Running too fast for the weedy calf
They’ve run out into the sunset
The trampled foliage marks their successful passage
The calf contemplates – what’s a gal to do?
CHOOSE!
Which way? Well trodden? Off the beaten track?
CHOICE!
The calf trots. Then runs. Then gallops for her life.
CHOSEN!
The tale is over. The calf gets killed for her milk, skin, meat, anyway.
How pointless! you yell.
Yes.
You’re right.
Apologies for pointing out the obvious.
Christine Della Vedova (Western Australia)
2013/07/11
Grass
One day I’ll be a blade of grass
like a bendable razor, plastic, elastic.
With only sun and water and
an occasional foot in the face.
I’ll be green.
I’ll be the same as everyone else.
People just like me moored to my side.
I’d like to be green, please.
Christine Della Vedova (Western Australia)
like a bendable razor, plastic, elastic.
With only sun and water and
an occasional foot in the face.
I’ll be green.
I’ll be the same as everyone else.
People just like me moored to my side.
I’d like to be green, please.
Christine Della Vedova (Western Australia)
Third World C*nts
I was pickpocketed by wily street kids.
I was bag snatched by knife wielding thugs.
I was emotionally manipulated out of funds
by my Spanish dance teachers.
An old woman with fire fused hands
grabbed my pants, begging, ‘Ayudame!’
A one-eyed man robbed a taco off my plate in a well priced café.
A grizzled old labourer knocked on our door, begging for food.
A local woman walked five kilometres carrying her live chicken
to make my room-mate’s birthday lunch.
I painted the toenails of a woman
silently dying of AIDS.
Third World Cunts.
To call them ‘Cunts’ is my highest form of compliment
because amongst all the slime, blood and hair
life begins there.
Christine Della Vedova (Western Australia)
I was bag snatched by knife wielding thugs.
I was emotionally manipulated out of funds
by my Spanish dance teachers.
An old woman with fire fused hands
grabbed my pants, begging, ‘Ayudame!’
A one-eyed man robbed a taco off my plate in a well priced café.
A grizzled old labourer knocked on our door, begging for food.
A local woman walked five kilometres carrying her live chicken
to make my room-mate’s birthday lunch.
I painted the toenails of a woman
silently dying of AIDS.
Third World Cunts.
To call them ‘Cunts’ is my highest form of compliment
because amongst all the slime, blood and hair
life begins there.
Christine Della Vedova (Western Australia)
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