IT COULD HAVE BEEN YOU

In a stroke of serendipity

The enthralled pair throws the dice

The receptacle receives the bidding 

Kicking and screaming, a child is born

A mate long chosen, she courts paucity

The subject of an autocratic fate

Her hand is a play of bloody despair

The air she takes is the fare for her soul

It could have been you

Running from feeble houses and unfenced yards

Burning ashes and fumes clinging to her yarns

She hears the bells beckoning

Sands scrape her feet, she gapes for breath

Looking up, the sun is higher today

Sweat streams down her brow

Tears of terror stream down her cheeks

Her empty stomach reeks of bile

She stops

Keening, silent pledges of mercy soar heavenward

Balloon-stomach strikes her behind, he flaunts

Caked mud soars in clouds

Her dress soars to the clouds

The bite steals her breath

The dawn of her spirit is quenched

Her friends weep in concealed mirth

The lash increases her despair

It could have been you

Bonfires feed on her pages

They flaunt, they beam

Burning ashes and fumes clinging to her yarns

Balloon-stomach strokes her behind, he beams

Her stomach balloons, she screams.

Her dreams?

In the sizzling heat of the day

With the sun shooting its gothic spires into her eyes

Her brows lifting in a permanent squint

She waves bruised fruits and sagging greens

Ages of sun, starches and spirits smear her face

With long creases they sit on her face

The tracking lines chant of her struggles

All the love for herself gone

Her dawn long quenched

Life is but a sore duty

In a stroke of serendipity

The enthralled pair threw the dice

The receptacle received the bidding 

Kicking and screaming, a child was born

A mate long chosen, she courts paucity

The subject of an autocratic fate

Her hand is a play of bloody despair

The air she takes is the fare for her soul

It could have been you