Matrifocal
Matriarch sweeps her Long-brown-Paw Across the morning
Dew erupting from her palm, the escapees of Horticulture
(Maze, Beans & Squash) Matriarch this Tomato slice is for you
This Luscious blood-cut fatalism of my heavy chef’s knife
Tomatos born have the Heavy red dew of Burial mounds in Virginia
I set The Golden Egg of the Iroquois confederation at Peace
Mohawk Sachems Shifting Alliances portend the kind of feast they’ll make
That which in abundance grows easy on the vine aligns well with Wartime
Tough Blood Matrons of the Long Houses reveal their protest in whops
A Workday sweats into Sunset And the Humming of the Bugs
At Most Equal Women could Veto the War, while Men Dominate Public-Dominion
(Politic, feast, Warfare) this is the game of men, the hunted and the caught
Matriarch sets her palm in chalk
This is the Veto for war, immediately a Warrior’s prestige deflated, spears clatter to the ground
The Night Force the rage of the beast resumed in feasts will not be abated tonight
New Guinean Pigfeast for War will lose its bounty
Open-Mouthed Glazed pig, your tanned skin luster was for nothing
There is a Fuji-apple in your mouth, Volcanic sauce oozed from your lips un-tasted
This Meant War
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