I
Make room, you people!
Start digging a hole.
It’s not about who you know,
It’s about who you control.
The magazines said it best:
She’s a vicious beast.
Lower those lip corners
But never ever head east.
Hide your sons in the attic,
Raise your daughters with pride.
If her scent still lingers,
Make sure that you hide.
II
“Yet another fragile victim is joining the ranks
Of those she seduced with bullets and tanks.”
“Could he truly fall for her sardonic gaze?
Did the blade run through or did it gently graze?”
“Were her lips cherry red when she said the words?”
“I bet he fiercely fought her crooked swords.”
“She killed that marriage, she must be punished,
Ripped apart at the seams, starved and banished.”
III
My homeland has no enemies,
My palace has no door.
It’s my essence that frightens them.
La petite mort.
A victim of their making
In the devil’s clothing.
Their eyes follow me north
Where I am decomposing.
The fingers point at me,
Their tongues shoot right through.
It took me twenty years
To wrangle this little zoo.
My country has no traitors,
My palace has no gate.
Come right in and test me.
If you dare, take the bait.
-Jackie
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 