Two Poems by Elisabeth J. Ferrell-Horan

They Dun it ‘Good

Well, they did it.
The bone snatchers
In the night
Ate my pride and did it right
The rednecks
The color haters
The crocodile eaters
The swamp feeders.

The ones who hunt the deer I love
The deer I’ve been hiding all along
With my no trespassing signs
Keeping death out of my room -
They tore them down
Fed to abortion vacuums -

The fawns I ‘ve nursed
The bucks I cursed
For tearing up my fall -
His antlers of bone  - impale my tongue
My wordy head’s upon the wall.

Well, they got it -
The vote, the vote
They got out the vote
Called the klan
Stoked a fire
Of witch hunting ire
And burned at the spire
Our hope

They came out of the woods
The white ones
The rapists
The sex offenders heard
There’s free pussy at the polls
And they are coming to get it
Groping allowed -

Date rape, what the hell…
Ruffies, elixirs and bodily smells
My pussy is unguarded
Left alone, clam shell divided.

The birthers were right
They got ‘em in the end, its
Back to Kenya, Hawaii
Where the world comes to the end -

And it's flat, not rounded
As some people say -
Columbus was right this post election day.

I have to get up, take my kids to school
Can’t live in a vacuum
Can't jump like a fool...
It's all an act, I think -
It won't be that bad.
There's no need to panic -
Our forefathers said.

They never listened to the women,
Not then and not now - so,
No wonder it’s
Hate -
Not love -
Sloshing ‘round in their heads.






Irreverent Elect

When I got up today and felt so lonely -
I wondered what it would feel like
To get in the basket -

To be a winner again.
I feel sick of losing, I’ve lost my way, and
I want to be a winner like T H E M.

So I snuck in the basket
I was so afraid they would notice my skin tone
And its palate of cocoas
Behind my mineral mask - so

I offered to wear the white robe of our past
Looking away when they grabbed my pussy, so many hands
Upon my redacted decency.
They told me it was essential for the security
Of our nation -

To check all vaginas for contraband
For IEDs, anthrax, the male brand of loyalty.

I had to work on my identity of WHITE
Not just a teeny bit white
But really, humongously
She better watch out, or I’ll sue her ass:
W H I T E.

That’s the only way to grow the jobs
And to cut off the trade - and to
Make us safe again from
T H E M, again.

So I stood on this side of the wall
And waved as they deported my parents;
I assembled a refugee camp,
I burned Ellis Island;
I sent back all the Jews;
The browns, the reds, the poor, the weak -
All the N E W ones,
That have been dragging us down
All along -
I imagined my forefathers beaming in pride at my
Astute interpretations of their intractable words.
I know I got it right
As I howled in the moonlight -

I wore a white cape on a steamy night,
Burning my brothers by firelight
And hanging my sons from a noose -
The rope felt pliant and puissant
In my hands
As it begrudgingly made friends with the tree -
With M E.

I called my sister
Said I’ve disowned her - along with all
H E R lesbian friends.

I called Syria and told them to take ‘em all back
But got hung up on, wrong number -
We don’t want the sand &^%$#
We don’t want the T E R R O R I S T S -
They are all from over T H E R E -
None of them from H E R E - They are not U S
They are all I S I S.
I vowed to defeat Isis,
but only from the safety of my paisley baby blanket.

I told my daughter to keep her rape baby -
I told myself - no more estrogen, progesterone, no IUDs
Not anything -
Only babies
Endless, beautiful, unwanted babies, to load upon the
Foster homes
For the streets
For the Johns
Not my problem, I can’t see them, nor will I mind the crying
Of the crack addicted ones,
Thanks to the blindfolds; the hand holds, the drum-rolls.

Then I ate my own soul,
Chewing on the mores;
Taboos as tattoos
Of a Christian God on my arms - (the kind we like)
Reticent and goodly on my knees - (just like I’ve learned to)
H E loves me, this I know. H E forgives me;
H E will protect me on this mission,
This Metamorphose - the kind which
Ovid shall not ever know.

Next, I sharpened my claws and oiled my guns
It feels so good. I am Hemingway.
I booked a big game trip - for all the endangered,
Rhino horns, ivory, pelts, livers, teeth -
All mine, mine, mine.

I can do anything, I can be great again -
Yesterday, I was one of the sinners, one of
The ones that have made us weak, but
Today, I wear a crown, ringed in thorns,
My hands nailed
Bleeding to a scaffold of H -
For hate - or for
Herr: saluting, marching, supporting affairs.

In the basket of U S -
In the safety of H I S borders - They cannot throw me out;
Not any longer.
I, am not alone. I, am one of T H E M.
Y O U can come along too, if you so choose -
You’re welcome.

 Hi. I’m Elisabeth - you call me Liz if you prefer. Elizabeth Taylor never liked the way  Liz sounded like a snake hissing. I live in Vermont. I like animals sometimes better  than people. I hate not having closure to things like relationships or lost animals. I  ride horses for therapy. The biggest challenge of my life is being a mom and    convincing myself I am doing ok at it. Peace to the mothers - You can do this.

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