Warpaint Poem by Josephine Dunn

Warpaint. Painted on,
Go to war. Does just
What it says on the tin.
Frightens the natives,
Keeps them away,
At bay. Baying,
Pack of hounds,
Gone to ground.

Foxy lady. Hiding
Behind painted mask.
See? No, don’t see.
No one sees the real me,
Except you, in the
Early morn, dawn, worn
Out, dog tired, panting
With desire, longing
For a cup of tea, food
Of the Gods, nectar, at this
Unmentionable, ungodly hour, and
For other things, unnamed, unspoken.

Walk the dog, the dog walks me.
Domestic, you, boil the kettle,
Prime cups with bags of tea,
Neatly packaged, one for you,
One for me.

Your boots lie, orphaned,
When I return, mine
Join them in piled abandon
At foot of stairs
I climb, midnight mountaineer, to
Water hot, flannel wet,
Soap scented, towel soft,
Face, fanny, feet,
Sweetly clean.

The bride stripped bare, I
Descend, vulnerable,
No longer brave,
No need for warpaint.


Copyright - Josephine Dunn - 22nd January 2010