You come over very low
rotor blades finely slicing the morning air
very low over where I crouch
chip hoe in hand weeding a garden bed
to plant the Michaelmas daisies.
I am not in your sights but ah! little you know
that you are in mine.
You are not a
harmless-helicopter-seeking-out-dope-crops
You are a helicopter gunship seeking out
your morning harvest of human flesh and I
I am the Witch of Wolfendon Mountain
in my disguise as a little-old-lady
in blue denim overalls planting blue Michaelmas daisies.
I lift my garden hoe, mutter the incantation.
In my hands this harmless tool transmogrifies
a state-of-the-art Kalashnikov
in the hands of a slanty-eyed peasant in black pyjamas.
Archangel Michael hovers at my elbow cheering me on.
Go back to your own country, I screech.
Bomb your own peasants if peasants you must bomb.
The helicopter drones on. I take aim, fire.
Bang- Bang- Bang- Bang-Bang-Bang All dead.
Archangel Michael congratulates.
I'll stay around for a while before reporting back to the boss
he says kindly
and help you to finish planting the daisies.
Venie Holmgren
11 Ives St Pambula 2549
tel 02) 64957114
email:vholmgren@acr.net.au