Shadi Eskandani

A poem by Charmayne D’Souza.

When God First Made A Whore

When God first made a whore,
He took the howl of the wolf,
the flexibility of the politician’s
law,
and the smoothness of the guillotine’s saw.
Said the Almighty Lord:
‘Men, I have given you
the Almighty Broad.’
She said — ‘Look after me well,
for upon my body lie many sleepers,
converging into nothingness
like a railway track.
My body is the single straw
that shook once in the wind,
and finally broke the camel’s back.
It will be the last life
left to the cat,
the sinking ship to a deserting
rat,
a barren cannon booming
in a fertile field of men,
a Rorschach test of loneliness
looming
like the celibate’s final amen.
My body
is a coffin creak
and the tap-tap of a desolate
shutter,
it’s the cuckold’s last silent
shriek
and the village idiot’s stutter.
Adam’s rib
chewed to bone, to blood, and the stone
that hurled Able to the mud.
One day,
God will ask for this sweaty body
of mine,
but, like all the rest,
He will have to stand in line.’
So said the whore,
as they asked for more.