Gnatty Dread
 
I wanted something in finest white
against my net curtain’s graceful lace,
a bright plan to shield my magnetism.
I had imagined a snowblown scene
beyond which tiny wings would spin.
Instead it was to be a veil of black,
a mesh to crush a vile quest for blood,
that evil compulsion of the feminine kind,
now blocked by rectangular screens
and they would see what was unseen
so I might live within, without a bite.
My victory has made a widow of a window.
 
Outside I would remain a source of life,
formed with two ankles’ worth of iron
in a land of insects rising from the river.
The ecosystem has declared a war
which means there is no peace for me –
perhaps a plague on all our houses.
A biteless future has arrived in the post
but danger surrounds my fateful scent.
If only the river and its grassy banks
could move themselves a dozen miles
to make a pleasant past mine once again
and liquidate Fort Knox’s netted bars.
 
What do you say? Yeah mun….
Thought not.


Susan Wilson

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Susan Wilson  would like to hear them