Duck Boots

livers that throb with force, the dialation of a crocodiles smile.
He clenches,constricting blood vessels around his prey.

this is what it has done to you.
Do not focus on the crackle of skin as it reaches for a stalk to whipe clean its blood,
blood left from bullfights,
blood left behind from when reptile met beast
blood left from the poaching of great jungle beasts

do not let these crocodile hands gain inches around your throat
think only of the silk laden bride, the one who rode elephants to your saviour.
soft hair, warm breath,
think of her as she lies belly up,
her two white slippers, and one white mitten,
strewn next to her on the solid earth that surrounds.

"Eventually!", they lecture you,
"your beautiful woman will turn into that gallant old man."
but you know already
your smile will be painted on when the moonlight stretches across your face.

Up north the lady is gone.
Her slippers now on your feet,
stuck in a pile of fermenting compost,
searching for the warm silky mitten,
Hopelessness grips your hand.
The silk does not last.
You're back in those 'duck boots',
engulfed by mud.

A familiar sense of panic,
the most sincerely heartfelt cry of a three year old who is auctioning off her belongings.

"something about having to say goodbye to elephants",
mumbled to you in hospital vespers
"to those who never forget."
she called it out to the world.

"something's got to give",
and everything breaks,
boards that once saved you from the mud become the planks which you are walking.

'breathe in deep the cold air' little girl,
'they say you'll see the northern lights.'

but as the clouds dissipate
she's only searching for the moon.

"come find me, I'm back in this mess!"
it was cried out to all the elephants

waiting for their trunks
to reach out,
turn tightening duck boots back into white airless slippers,
to lift her from this sediment.

The elephants never came to her rescue.
There was only the dry skin of the crocodile,
and I shook its hand.