affection

With manicured hands you flicked the lumps of shit,

sitting aloft on your dictatorial throne;

but I've grown in size, like larvae nourished on dung,

and sprung open the restricting walls of my pupa.

The soup and meat course for a swarm of swamp gnats

shatter your brittle calm with their squeaking venom -

the endless deserved torment serving a splendid

inspiration for a plethora of barbed retorts.

I chortle with a full bottle, now that my nimble

limbs can copy the fencer's thrust and parry -

married as ever to the clever tricks of polished

politesse in pursuance of conversation.

Yes, now I've learnt to crack the hunter's whip,

I'll get your feet a merry jig to skip.