To my lover, on his other lover’s pregnancy
Now I get it. The cunt pulled wide,
the grinning face, the gotcha;
Step aside, you milksop fuckers.
Fools. I’ve got him by the bollocks now.
I never cursed till this. The goosegirl, me,
happy in our bed of mud-and-mayflower;
no need of spells or statuary. But
I have wished that unwished body in her body
have wished that it would take its leave
before it took – since she that took you
took you. She steps inside and sits
unwelcomed by our hearth. She spits
our hearts on butcher’s hooks,
your honour hanging in her womb
like someone in a gibbet.
The cunning woman gets her prize,
the man comes home to horror,
his pizzle wizening, his eyes amok
at the familiar grin-and-straddle;
Love? You silly fuckers. Kiss my cunt.
ANNE SCHIFFER is an editor and former historic buildings surveyor who hails from Bristol. Her poetry has been published in a number of journals including Iota and Magma. Her current project is a sequence of poems about the naturalist Gilbert White.