Is it a whim that I am victim of,
A casual decision on an arbitrary day?
Did I annoy you, Mother Nature?
Well how bitter now your pet name,
gushing meadows appellation
with its succour for the needy,
there’s a cupcake in the oven,
I’m a fount of warmth and nipples,
free for all to sit and suckle;
slake your thirst my child and revel
in my womb of endless bounty.
Your hips have borne so much
It’s a wonder you can stand.
How does your halo stay so clear,
Your expression never changing?
All that rape and malnutrition
Must wreak havoc on your skin.
Has your womb in fact run dry?
Are you sitting on your bed, bosoms
cold, cracked and swollen red
tears coursing down your stitches,
as a requiem of piss and dribble
pools between your legs
and the trumpet of incontinence
calypsos your demise?
Or are your eyes wet with anger just
as mine are, dimly gazing at the rhino-
plastic bag that dares to occupy your jacket,
nodding meek acquiescence in a drooping false moustache,
making idle plans for God-knows-who’s
tomorrow in your stead? Do you think,
Mother Nature, you and I – we might be dead?