The Wolf


Three bodies sat around a table;
a wolf disguised, as in a fable,
a bloodied victim, half chewed away,
and the predator’s next intended prey.

The bloodied victim had the audacity to survive. Bravely, she spoke to the intended prey, describing the tactics and weaknesses of the wolf. The wolf stammered excuses, but the woman in his sights was not a fool.

I was one of the three,
and, yesterday, I aquired a pile of knives.
Each one was etched with a
against my sex
All the sins committed by you, the wolf, were represented.

I sharpened my knives with a fine whetstone.
Aggression and affection rubbed together, each clearly defined.
I had no love for you, only the desire to save a life.

Today I examine my prospective weaponry, silently interviewing every well-honed applicant for the post of accomplice to rough justice. Each stretch of steel sharply translates the rays of sun into a gleaming silver streak of lethal dreams.

I select the most stylish knife in my armory;
fashioned for filleting, its sleek blade
emerges, confident, from a welcoming wood handle,
elegantly narrowing
to a
more threatening than Madonna’s famous bra.
Tenderly, I stroke it with my thumb.
I name it for you.

I picture a glistening film of crimson, the viscous drips weeping their shame at your lack of remorse.

I’ll hand you the knife, and wait
for the cutting slash, the stabbing thrust that will drive the spike through your flesh, into the unsleeping, penile heart of the matter.

I’ll watch your dispicable spirit simmer –
see you spit, but your spit will not reach.
You will have been hoisted by your own petard.

I’ll raise a victorious fist
for womens’ solidarity.

I’ll drink (coffee) to the health of my new friend.
She drinks weak tea,
but with my tolerant nature
I view that as a minor misdemeanour.

The Daily Post #Spike

©Jane Paterson Basil


13 thoughts on “The Wolf

  1. I was of two minds, to give it a like? But it was well constructed, with a good poem and the “what do you call the shaped verses”? Thingies.

    Men have their own predators. Usually, they do not unite against them. All that poison might be detrimental to anyone? Even if, one is offended against. I cannot say? I have my own knives in my back. I need to take care of.

    I find the parody of Madonna quite amusing. Having seen her breasts in a men’s magazine, they are not good looking, from my hehe .. point of view. Size is the only redeeming quality and leave it at that?

    People like Madonna. Use the blatant sexuality which is also demeaning against women, in general. Her and her counterpart Lady Gaga. The way that media, flocks to their acts. Is beyond me. Lack of moral fibre. I did not live in a big city since 1974. So much of the angst is alien to me. Talk about stranger in a strange land.

    Your poem definitely has a sinister aspect running through. I used to admire “Spike” Milligan his humour was off the wall. Cheers Jamie.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. If I hadn’t been so incensed about what’s been going on in my life recently I would have written a tribute to Spike Milligan. I’m a big fan of his.
      his poem is about a man who’s been playing two women off against each other, cheating and lying to try to get us both in his bed. The other woman has had a terrible life with him. His trick was to divide and rule. Our counterplay is to unite and survive. I didn’t want him, and yet he pursued me relentlessly, while with the other woman. He tried to activate my pity by telling me all sorts of lies, and saying she was a monster. He’s also been making up stories to her about me, to make her feel insecure. It’s a nasty game. I know, as I was once in her position. She now wants to be shot of him, but she knows he won’t leave her alone. I can’t avoid him as our lives are inextricably linked.
      He’s a sick man who’s messed up a lot of lives – including his children’s – with his selfish nastiness. He gets away with it by appearing pathetic. If he gets your sympathy he’s won yet another trophy.
      I know how hard I sound, but I’ve had a gutfull of people (not just men) like that.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Somebody donated about 15 Sebatier kitchen knives to the Oxfam shop where I work. We can’t sell knives, so I gave a donation and took them home. I was so thrilled with them that I just had to weave them into a poem, and I was so furious with a certain man that I wanted to hit him. Instead I wrote him into my vicious poem 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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