Diana; Queen of the Den
Artemis, Luna, O Goddess Diana,
I beseech thee, immortal, grant thou servant thy manna,
I have completed thyn task and done as thou wished,
Now milk I will lap from your pale moonlit dish?
For you held up your bow and myself as arrow,
May you grant me a licking of delicious marrow?
Just a morsel of flesh or bone to chew on,
Then shall I recount what did happen.
A lost pig? What luck! Your miracles exceed,
Forever I starved and you granted reprieve.
Now a bard thou hast shaped, I shall tell you the tale,
How a fox, you did make, of this timorous female.
For once I was bashful and sheepish, it’s true,
A maid and a cook, a wife was I too!
For years I did slave, for a cheat and a slob,
My lazy, fetid, unendowed husband, Bob.
One night I did make for him a delectable ham,
Though all he deserved was a plate of cold spam.
“Wife, this looks fine” he spluttered to say,
Over the folds of fat which were caught in his way.
And like the swine at a feast, he devoured it all;
With his chewing and smacking and “Wife, pass the salt.”
It took less than an hour; he cleared his whole plate,
My plate, the fridge, three cupboards, but wait!
The pantry, the larder, 10 jam jars, all gone!
And all I could do was stand and look on.
But the night opened up and your face I did see,
In my head, I broke down, and prayed I to thee.
“Save me O Goddess, so bright and so wise,
I am sick of this world with its husbands and wives!
Where the husband is king and pain is his leisure,
While the wife, on her back, tries to fake all that pleasure.”
I want freedom, and joy, and a great bushy tail,
Sharp teeth, a keen nose. No more adult female!
I’m an animal inside; my skin is my guise,
Tear my face from my head and look in my eyes.
These eyes are of nature, they’ve seen the real world,
I’m a fox inside, I was never a girl.
For a girl is a princess, a Queen amongst men,
But I am from nature, I’m Queen of the Den.
So a hatchet I took from way up on high,
And with one swoop from the blade Bob’s head doth fly,
From the neck, it detached, and reached a great height,
But ‘twas doomed from the start as was Icarus’s flight.
It came down with a bang, a splat and a thud,
The kitchen was covered in 10 pints of his blood.
Blood upon blood, his neck made a geyser,
His brain I consumed for my appetizer.
His ears were so tough and his eyes I did chew,
I thought about making some delicious torso stew.
From his legs a roulade, from his arms a nice broth,
But so impatient I was, on all fours I did scoff.
I tore off his limbs and his fingers I ate,
In life you were cruel, in death, I salivate.
In bed, you made love like you hated my guts,
But your guts I now feast, we’re even I trust?
Now I stand here, a breast, in your divine moonlit gaze,
Baptized in his blood, a virgin and chaste,
Reborn as a fox, a Queen of the Den!
And from this day forth I’m finished with men!
Jamie John Patrick Flynn, 26, is from Waterford Ireland where he’s a writer, director, poet and Artistic Director of Gasworks Productions. Taking influences from the day-to-day activities all the way up to the surreal.