If you weren’t a woman

Rosemund Handler

A snake came to my water trough*
On a night of sweaty dreaming
Put a revolver to my head
Scales between my legs
Gun-stroked my nipples
As the moon slid
Into pinpricks of pupils
Blistered a throat
Rippling like silk
Swallowing an unslakeable thirst
Got anything bitch?
The hot open mouth of the gun
Dry-fucking every pore
Fang-fingers conversational
Sinuous between my legs
Think about it
Fuck-fingers emphatic
Turning vehement
Exploding sounds out of me
Take anything
Not you, cunt,
Fangs sinking
Between breasts
Blunt head
Butting out secrets
Bloating pockets
Emptying toxins
Into the seams
And crevices of a life suspended
We could have had fun
If you had the stuff
Pupils quenched by night
Infect the gun with tremors
If you weren’t a woman, bitch
You’d be dead dead dead

*(The first line is from DH Lawrence’s poem “Snake”)

LitNet: 30 August 2006

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