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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Part Two Till October comes around with its bounty The granary stuffed to the full Lush fruits still pulpy and juicy Ripen to a filthy rashes on skin brashness The greenness of innocence Turned to an over-ageing dun-yellow Tell-tale sickening silliness Soon detached the firm leaves will lie Thick on the ground spurned and trampled Earlier than the appointed hour No matter Recourse to pins and stitches Breast uplifts Straightened nosebridges Dead Indian women’s chevelures High straining buttressing stilts under heels And thick sticky chemical tasting paint Squeezed carcasses concentrated musk Furs of bludgeoned seals and foxes Haute couture paid through bankers’ loots Or the easy secret service paid trysts Through hard-earned tax payers’ sweat In five-star deluxe hotels Will lengthen the hour Yet In the boudoir Yes Pity the woman She has but a score years from teen to thirty-five Before men take her for a whore Some women know this well And cleverly work to use this sell She’ll kick and thrust her lolly chops from bum to cheek In the later Heaven’s southwest sky Fascination oozing from her loins The sacred portals of propagation Bruised all over under fire-dragon skies Bloody a limb or two out of joint and the gnawing ignominy Of having relented in June Sowing your wild oats with the blessings of 13.7 billion years The trained and disciplined chromosomes Without the company on whom to work her wiles and sap nourishing energy to continue She’ll seek the riotousness of her ilk and at autumn’s summit At the height of smoldering flesh When worms and germs will make a merry feast Of the beast in her meat Let her fade away with her booty Seek not to set right wrongs You have only yourself to blame For thinking easily entered gamboling Will not be made out to be your aim For weren’t you then the spirit consoling © T. Wignesan, May 10, 1987 (rev. 2012, from the collection: Lessons of Change, 1987)
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