A Fate Not Self-Decided
 
A slow and painful fate a flag endures
as vibrant colors hoisted to the sky
arouse the winds, as wolves to flesh are lured.
The pole-bound victim, not allowed to die,
is forced to watch its own unraveling fate,
like witches feeling flames lick at their feet.
 
And struggle’s violence mounts as more the sting
of lashes dealt to tear the woven seams.
Strengthened are the grips of hands restraining,
much as coils of the snake squeeze tight
around the rodents not so quick to die,
or as deeper sets the hook in fish that fight.
 
        (The victim, full of pleas it dares not cry
        recalls the flag, who limp, has less to endure,
        lays still and waits beneath the fate it’s dealt,
        like whores that feel the dollars on their legs.
        For should its hope be not so quick to die,
        the serpent’s coils on its neck should tighten,
        and thrilled he’d be to sport with such a creature
        that fights, as fish that pull his hook yet deeper.
        Not so unlike the tortured prey of cats
        whose limbs are torn away before they’re eaten.)
 
As cats are known to taunt and torture prey,
men pride not the flags that limply hang,
but are pleased to witness rationings of pain
the wind inflicts upon its tethered slave
and thrilled to see the victim writhe in vain,
as killer whales, who mangle baby seals.
 
A fate not self-decided bears the flag,
to represent wherever it is placed,
belonging to whatever land may bear it.
Not unlike some women’s fate to bear
seized and bound by hands of hungry men
from which (she) may attempt to writhe away…
 
            Lauren L. Zavrel