War Footing

Hatches not battened down, but thrown open.

More than this beginning:

sinister gate that guards hatred

swinging dangerously on its hinges,

creaking banshee warning that

my war footing has begun.

My weapons you will never see,

club carved from poison oak,

sinew from the strangling vine,

entwining entail of knotted rope

that will hang and not quite kill.

Thrown down bile, venom to desecrate

the good green land so that nothing

will ever grow there again.

I am an equal opportunities destroyer,

given half the chance.

My arms are open,

ready for embrace,

steeled up for the dance.