The Routine
he grabbed my arm
he took me aside
his hands on my chest
moving down to my thigh
his stance firm and strong
his eyes sharp, no hesitation
I did not move, I did not scream
I could not, I should not
he went down to my feet
he rose up to my face
his lips moved in assurance
I heard him saying
thank you, random check is done
the same sentence, never random
a cracker intrigué ....until the end perfect!
ReplyDeleteWonderful poem. Terrible when our body is the site of someone else's shitty politics.
ReplyDeleteomg - your poem has described brilliantly how surveillance (moral, political, religious, psychological...) eroticises and terrorises bodies, simultaneously. A fantastic poem, Chrysogonous. And the last line is perfect and chilling and speaks volumes...
ReplyDeleteterror impersonated...!
ReplyDeleteIt's funny with that tinge of homoeroticism
ReplyDelete