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.