That you speak from the intestines
anchoring your tongue
vexes me dangerous degrees from boiling point
bold, throaty and tough
adjectives you spit out in Rumpelstiltskin-like repulsion
I was never made for the parade you speak of
The materials I build with are lost on your tactile conception
Your snares tiptoe about my daily cares
But I am quenched with salt from the local
and consoled by the one more time you will not salvage
Generalisation is not philosophy, do your homework son
Poison Ivy hemmed to look like a pretty green blanket remains toxic
lower your snout
That you speak from the intestines
anchoring your tongue
rips through priceless stitches of celestial tapestry
Three two one, is the light still on?
I pray you notice the signal for the well along the road
Bernadette Richards is from Cape Town. She is inspired by diverse forms of art and believes that creativity is one of the best forms of therapy.