Linor Goralik

* * *

That mockingbird she brought us, dear Remus, -
oh, how it sang! When mother put it down
on the uneven dusty floor of our
uneven cave, it was so thickly soaked
in her saliva that its feathers looked
like leather;
I remember mother's throat, -
pulsating, gulping, swollen up with hunger, -
and yet her teeth were white: it was alive,
that dripping mockingbird.
I hushed and looked.
You hushed and look at me,
and than you've grabbed
our breathless mother by her saggy tits, -
the frontal four, - and told me:
come for dinner,
come lie with me, my quiet hypocrite,
come crawl under her and suck her dry,
come bleed her for that promised diamond bling
and mighty bull, come bite her till she swears
'bout those looking glass and cart and horse.
Don't let her off with just a billy goat, -
let's howl and scream while she'll be dragging stones
and wood and brass and slaves and engineers.
Don't make that face; let's do it, let us see
who will become the sweetest boy in town.

* * *

Shut your pie hole Maggie Lee
before the dove gets out
before it starts twirling around
screaming clear and loud:
"Maggie Lee has made a pie
for the only guest of the house
she's turning eight
he'll lengthen her chain
and allow her to water his flowers"

(c) Linor Goralik