My Jackal

She's good. I have to give her that.
She circles slowly, drawing nearer,
Like a jackal bent on getting her
Share out of wounded me. She'll
Wait until I finally fall. “The one
Who's gone has hurt you so,”
She says with barely hidden glee.
“Is there something that I can do?”
There is, and we both understand,
And we both know she's doing it.
She stalks. She smiles. She calls
My name and gently pats my
Upper arm. It's clear that she'll
Devour me. She's grasped me
Gently in her jaws, and, as she
Trots away from where my love
Was murdered, I decide I'll let
Her take me. What the hell?
She's kind. She's also good.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 72 times
Written on 2016-06-10 at 01:09

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