REVENGE
3/11/04
Like a glistening ball of anger goes
Only to slow where the rivers divert;
On he went, like a ragged jumping eel,
To steal death, if he could, from that marked man
Whose terrible span ran a lifetime of gore
And more: was filled with the bright pain of hate
And, in this state, lay the late dwelling place
Of a psychotic bloodlust, following
The wake of murder in quite recent days;
Rat-like and like a drowned rat he came-to,
Shaking his head as one would do a cat,
Then he lay this period of sorrow
And cursed it into the dawning of day
And reared up with a joy-like attitude
His solitude and all that he shared in,
Like a mystic born new of morning dew,
Licking the drops of water; then he stopped,
Looking down found his fur wet with their blood:
The murdered blood of his wife and children;
He stood quiet still then smelling the dank air
His nostrils flared and widening; when
He smelt his human prey yet again and
Broadening his back, he sped like a stag
His rag of a neck bristling sinews,
And he cried like a cub, his voice screaming
Revenge for the decimation this man
Had caused with timely blade of his sharp spade:
Digging and smashing infant heads within,
The blooded blade of that shiny, sharp spade
Laid waste and murdered all that he held dear:
Mate and mistress, cubs, children, all lay dead!
He lay in wait for the creature to pass
Then swift as night he sprang at the man’s throat
Sinking in his teeth: sharp and terrible.
The man shot up with the beast hanging
From his throat, he knew not what, weasel
Or stoat? Then he saw by light of the moon
The thing that assailed him with vice-like grip,
Snarling and screaming with what seemed anger,
He felt to squeeze the otter’s neck but blood
Was spurting all around like a fountain
And still the otter held his prey whilst day
Was creeping, the blood seeping. The man fell,
And still it held to the murderers’ neck
Till at last the man lay quite still and yet
He held and held till the last of his cubs’
Screams were subdued in his head. Then let go!
Washing the man’s blood from his sleek body
- Of this deed he did not even look back -
But screamed instead (for tears he could not shed),
Mouthed his loneliness at the quiet dawn’s spread;
Then with a snuffle broke the rivers skin
And, diving in, chased eels for his breakfast
But never forgetting those that he loved -
His mate, his children, in this world of chance:
Of remorse, joy and the sheer lust for life.
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