Made up to the eyeballs
mascara to the fore
nails painted
she’s aquainted
with all aspects of the law
a lady on a mission
amorousness her forte
she’s carrying a rifle
and someone’s going to pay
the blusher on her cheeks
rubs off on the wood
as she bends down
and aims her gun
as any hunter should
into the sun
just north of the town
and there he is
a brave soul
she needs to get him down
slinking through the undergrowth
in the cool light of the day
unaware of the women
the siren bent on death
the assassin in her camouflage
with a shortness in her breath
bending, watching aiming
and the trigger then she cocks
and fires the bullet that flies like hell
and as it hits, it rocks
our hero, he’s a wild boy
a spirit of the field
living with his ancestors
his knowledge all does yield
he is a mighty warrior
cut down in the prime of life
by a city whore who breaks
Nature’s Law
and gives the kingdom strife
a delusion in her manner
a disaffection for
the wild life and the predators
for she was very sure
her father told her long ago
the wolf was one to kill
she had a loathing for them
and their blood she had to spill
and there she sits as arrogant
as the day is long
made up to the eyeballs
a big smile
which is wrong
she is ill conditioned to
pretend she has the right
to kill this brave soul and to
show its corpse out in the light
her pitilessness apparent
her truculence so bad
a kind of gloating savagery
which I find extra sad