I wish  I were angry enough to spit fire
like a dragon curled around
her egg that never hatches.
Dark magic spins webs
like the silkworm spins her
unbreakablew filigree.

Her pubescent body is putrid.
She will transform into
the mother of more putrid pubescents
who weave us together 
in knots pulled tighter by our struggle,
and whom we would squash
beneath the heel of our boot
just because.