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Hadley Thom

Fugacity 05
Online Poetry Anthology


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Undisciplined Man

Pay attention
You aren’t listening
You are making me a nag

Climb mountains
Forge rivers
The laundry basket has a sag

I’m not Mom
I’m not Nanna
That would be a drag

Cook your dinner?
Clean the kitchen?
Here is a clean rag

I’ll drink a beer
While you cleanup
What’s that? You want to unwind

Hard day at work?
Early morning?
Yeah, me too. Thanks for cleanin’—so kind


The Death of Cleopatra

I sit solemn, in my silence. 
Though my head speaks brazenly,
A sovereign, 
Mother. 
A wife. 
A woman, cavorting in the realm of men. 
All of this is me, 
But none is mine. 

I hear the laughter
Of my children,
Of my enemies. 
Neither aware of what they soon face. 
The horror, the glory
The grandeur, the seclusion…

Soldiers died in my honor. 
I smelt the stench of their blood
Staining my crown. 

This is past. 
And with it is death,
Sour like the grapes pursing my lips.
This is my final feast.

I let the slithering serpent
Pass over me, 
Choosing where to bite. 
The pain resonates
The culmination of my victory,
And my loss.

I sit, in the twilight 
Between the beginning and the end.
Faced with the tensions of my life
Knowing judgement will be passed. 
I will be called a whore,
Or perhaps a Saint.
But I am simply a woman. 


Red night

Mocking laughter
High heels
Lucid Fabric

She dances
She, is broken

Aroused?--eyes watch
Pleased with the ease
One breast, 
The other

Repugnant 
Intoxication permeates the air

Souls are lost 
Blind men
Naked vulgarity

You are implicated
Because you have watched
You have sold yourself
To the loss, of another







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Last updated April 27, 2005