Guns of Daughters

she parades the free maidan,
sampling cadences of silence
beneath the falling vacuity;
she slew him cold with a serrate
stare, and foul lager spilled from
his throat like blood of a lamb;
tobacco in the air when she
walked out, off into the bitter
night; the raw burn clung to her
clothing, stifling dying residues
of sipho’s morning cologne and
that hugo boss for teenage girls.
often gasped with obstinacy, the
look bellowing with rage from
corners of her eyes, I’ll Kill You,
I’ll Kill You, I’ll Kill You, I’ll…
she had pledged herself
earnestly to the cause of a few
words; a thousand echoes, but
a myriad after his hand.

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