- A Silver Mallet -
My old man watched his grandad
trudging ‘cross the paddocks at dawn,
In the way I already slouch and tremble.
Caught an’ crippled by ‘is own blood,
For bred to bite or expire.
-
So I’ll beat my hands tender
With a silver mallet.
And oh what small hands at that.
Pop says they’re a boxer’s
Knubbled long the knuckle.
Come clean in the sink real quick.
All the women and men’ll remark,
“What delicacy, anger ought never been shown”
-
Though
-
An old red mongrel sits locked behind n’ tween the white in the mouth.
Pinched at the neck so’s not to let loose on em.
Though he’s got my warm white hand
Locked ‘tween his own
And God only knows what muscle will summon,
Once teeth pull out.