Cut

 for Susan O'Neill Roe

What a thrill ----
My thumb instead of an onion.

The top quite gone
Except for a sort of hinge

Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.

Then that red plush.


Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.

Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls

Straight from the heart.

I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz.
 A celebration, this is.

Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one.


Whose side are they one?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.

I have taken a pill to kill

The thin
Papery feeling.

Saboteur,
Kamikaze man ----

The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux Klan
Babushka
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence

How you jump ----
Trepanned veteran,
Dirty girl,
Thumb stump.

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