my mum told me many times
all men are pigs
but some people —–
some people are wolves
he gives me smiles in my solitude
my – what big eyes you have –
he makes me feel interesting
we laugh at eachothers jokes he smiles at me as he shuts the door
my – what big hands you have
that disregard my silence, my stillness,
the muted cry of what’s happenning?
the quiet pulse of no-no-no-no
he smiles at me in my isolation
and my – how didn’t i see
those big, sharp teeth you have?
your hunting grounds overshadow
my resting place
and i can’t sleep
inside my own corpse
you climb the tower and shout
little red! little red! let me come in!
while i’m still scrubbing at
clawing my way out of your stomach
how long ’til i stop hearing
every time i see the moon?
how long ’til wounds from
how long ’til i no longer flinch from the call little red
measuring eyes and hands and teeth?
hot long ’til i can look at myself
and not see the Big Bad Wolf?
© chris DINGLEY 2014