Poetry

Belladonna

Phillipa Martyr

Belladonna, belladonna, writhing in the rain—
What’s your problem, belladonna? Paramour a pain?
Kids are cranky, school’s a nuisance—only work gives joy,
He’s a problem, belladonna, naughty little boy.

Come on prudence, sexy smiler, where’s it all gone now?
Lovely ageing belladonna, wondering—and how.
Will it happen, pretty lady, will it all come true?
Getting older, belladonna, how I pity you.

What will happen, belladonna, when you can’t stay lean?
In each satin eye you drop your gorgeous atropine.
Will he leave you? Will he love you? Will he wish you young?
But I miss you, belladonna, and your poison tongue.