Radicalized revenge by a daughter

Not yet seen her teens but taught the lessons

brutal force thrust home, again and again

and again until her pawed thighs could

read the words, open wide, with eyes shut tight,

ostracised by gang rape, demeaned for

escaping sex slave, brothers beheaded,

her time had come, to strap thirteen

candles [church size], to the studded vest

beneath her flowing birthday dress

and walk, amongst market stalls,

homing, locked in on the Kasbah bazaar

stealth mode, seeking men in  sarong’s

sucking on  hookah’s beneath canopy shade

hiding from the burnt orange sun that spotlights

her progress, silky sari,  strolling,  under the

same sun from which they hide,

thoughts ripen on her pomegranate

sperm seeds, close to bursting,

to pepper dash and  snog the face of

each and every one, their own blow

job to kingdom come, her work done,

their brute force, penetrating thrust

leaves them now as body parts in the

blood-soaked dust, and tomorrow

will be the same stage

different actors, same play,

happy birthday,

we pray.