They will spoon you to their
Audacious mouths, gnash you
And suck the sweetness away.
This I saw. I too am called
By the Hunting-horn. Curiously
Enough the skies
Were not made escape hatches.
It – the killer blue, rolls
Like fly-paper.
Like a pliable moment.
Like the diner’s dream...
I’ll say my begotten prayer for
All caught things.
I’ll spy and endorse findings
To set the records straight – then
Put the oven where my mouth is.
Toast black my succulence.
Let them – then – try spooning me
From their throats!
© Stefanie Bennett
Stefanie Bennett has published several books of poetry – worked with Arts Action
For Peace, & ‘Equality’ [Human rights]. Of mixed ancestry – Italian, Irish Paugussett-Shawnee, she was born in Queensland, Australia.
