Poacher

The mother carries about her jutting womb,
pains, torments, fatigue… her daily companions.
For nine months or thereabout no one relieves her
of the bulk, and the toil attached to it.
At labour she is—oh! It’s unbearable!
If a baby girl she gives breath to,
She raises and nurtures her to her prime.



Growing and developing all her puberty signs, 
she swing-walks with a serpentine gait.
Her shape becomes attraction; her face derives affection;
yet her smiles command attention and the bulges
control desire; instilling it deep into the heart.
Consequently, she is adjudged wanted,
and shall soon be cardio-captured.



Unbeknown to her, all this sends invitation to man
who already paints an imaginary picture of her.
He checks with his heart to ensure correspondence;
if it is positive, he innovates finesse  to employ 
in order to lure the mother away
using appreciable words,
to render her weak,
before poaching her daughter away
with promises of eternal partnership.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2013

Poem

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Ivy D Avatar
June 4, 2013 at 11:59 AM
i don't know if you realized you posted the same poem over and over. Sandy
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