Bonding

Awake, aware, dangling, hanging by my heels,
suspended by, punished by translucent, thin, old
man hands. Upside down dancing flames, crackle,
and roar, an inferno raging in my granny's
fireplace. Pain, fear, fury, outrage, anger! I have
not known pain. First ever breath; air rushes into
my chest, swiftly. More pain, sharp, searing,
burning. Let it out! Scream, yell, cry wail! The
whacking, punishing hand stops.

Hands, different hands, my granny's work hardened
hands, awkwardly hold me, bathe me, pillow my head, oil me, diaper me. Ouch! She bends my
arms, forces them through unaccustomed sleeves.

A face, my granny's face above, blurred in dim light,
even as it is blurred now by the dimness of time.
Carried into greater dimness, the near darkness,
away from the fire, away from the light to where a
woman lays on a white sheeted bed waiting.

Dark hair. Dark eyes, deep pools of hunger,
horrendous hunger, outstretched arms, soft hands
reaching for me. Fear! I feel fear. The woman will
devour me, consume me completely! Then she
holds me, possesses me, pushes her nipple into my
mouth, floods my being with the elixir of life. I
now know that I am of her, part of her and so
must be for a little longer.

OLD TIME RELIGION

Oh Islam! Islam! Why must I concern myself with you? Like an abandoned black cat's hissing, you disturb me, demand my ears. I see your suffering. Nightly flickering images haunt me. Your children, your wives, wounded, starving, diseased could be my own. I talk to the abandoned cat, soothe her, placate her sen my infidel dogs away, coax her from the honeysuckle and brambles, carry her to my house, attend her needs. Like many of your females, she is in a family way by an unknown. Immaculate conception is not to be considered. Once was enough! She is a black oriental. One of her babies is like her, the other a most beautiful blue. All seems well but they live only long enough to open their eyes, have a look at the world, then sicken and die. Oh Islam!, insisting on your insularity. Will you and the Hebrew children, will all who claim to the chosen of God, cleave to your beliefs like a starving kitten to it's diseased mother's dry nipple, choosing death over a dog's milk?

MILITARY INTELLECT

Trooper booted men, weapons at the ready, hard, unseeing eyes straight aflame, protect institutional corridors while here and there, pigs in pink pants scurry, seeking sanctuary. My sergeant says, "Chief Operation Vanilla wafer is in great jeopardy. The enemy has introduced mad pigs into the game. We must be vigilante, grab them by their heels, bash out their brains before they eat our lunch. Like this!" He snatches up an innocuous passing pig, swings it high overhead, smashes it, flattens it on the stone floor squealing, screaming, "You're dead meat, you son of a bitch! You will never get my cookie!"