Lessons of Change - X - Part Two

Written by: T Wignesan

                         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)