A Compassionate Bully's Gaze Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

You've landed
on my sculptor lens, your brows
sketched out,
a chuckling chick's feathers
making my iris itch.

Your wink is a mouse's
bulged eyes,
no flames to burn my butt's plate.

The glass beam
of sweat streaming down
your cheeks wears

the stropped tongue
of my bayonet
skilled in slash and burn.

(ii)

But it will not split you
into the petals and feathers
of a wildflower's stars,

which will spade-pave -
with my clawed hands -
a fire ginger-flanked road

to a lighthouse
to hide you from the paws
of my barking boots
waiting for blood's smell.

(iii)

As I stroke you with feathers
of a daisy's hands

and toss you back
into the furnished bastion
of the bushes,

behind the extra-tall cabins
of gown-dressed trees,
I warn you never to slip

into my palms again,
as my fingers spin triggers,

my palm the handguard
that carries a mamba's mouth
to spit out hibiscus flames

and the fire ginger arrow
to lick you, as you drown in smoke
and a cloud's ash.