Poem: Extraction – 09/08/20

I tell the man that he is tyrannical,
he can take his rubbish home with him tonight.
 
I tell the man he is delusional,
he won’t get anything from me this, nor any other night.
 
I tell the man he is dreaming,
how far does he expect to get with this attitude in life?
 
I tell the man I am magical,
I don’t need his nightly strife.
 
I fly away on brightened wings,
feathers soar,
no clippings,
there has never been an owner to determine how I move,
whether I can rise,
what I can do.
 
I am a winged woman in charge of my life,
I am a soaring phoenix who will pay no 
attention to a rude man’s fabricated strife,
because if that man had taken a knife to my edgings,
I promise you, darlings,
he would no longer be the one calling.
 
I tell myself that I am not ready-made,
I am uniquely here and now,
my journey to arrive here, though convoluted,
would shock and amaze,
I understand that while I rise and soar
I am impervious to the dangers that lurk in human form on the ground.
 
Fallen beings, so they’re called,
and devilish spirits, whose callous lives will unfold,
before my very eyes I spot them, in a group,
in their gloom,
and this is what I screech as I descend,
this is what I do.
 
Behold my substance!
I cry from afar,
behold my potent nature,
I’ve developed myself, I express with my shrieks and roars,
and when my heated wings of my blazing form
shift and shine and shine and move,
I wriggle in a manner that wholly flatters my form,
and their eyes, those sets of eyes are now enthralled,
transfixed, their gazes are proof.
 
What say you to a dance?
I offer one of the women then one man,
what say you to a challenge?
First – the woman – nods readily,
the other pales in comparison.
 
She attempts to move her body but she does so
clumsily, clunky, violently,
it wholly seems a joke,
I try to keep a straight face,
and encourage,
to extract some form of hope.
 
Now my turn,
I say,
as I shimmy, shimmy, flurry
my fiery form and wings either side,
each way,
 
I now engulf them all,
send their damned souls back to hell,
because if not,
they’d remain and likely harm somebody else.
 
I cannot have them on my conscience,
but their extraction is something which I must never tell,
their rightful banishment, little to no substance,
this sordid tale which shall never be revealed.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay

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