Inquisition

Inquisition

There is often a wish to throw women to the Inquisition
curves are blamed for an inconvenient itch
an uncomfortable envious swelling
of a myth
that sex is all the fault of woman
theres a plumbers whistle about Eves curse
gonna cost ya won't be cheap
these days Scylla and Charibdis are ravenous
grinding hopeful rocky teeth
sucking seafoam and Aphrodites toes
hoping for juicier bones
girls are told to be sexy tinies to
paint their nails and slap on gloss
but stay pubertal , nicely airbrushed
anorexic, hairless,floss
concentrate on being pleasing
pink fragile brittle shells
pretty empty just a whisper
as if girlpower means page three
behaving like a porn star pinup
to have no limits and never say no
Saturday night shagging of a stranger in an alley
is just a bit of play
everythings a game coloured in drink
nothings real
no one mentions the Pomegranate seeds
or the punishment of Persephone
that a night on the tiles leads to nights on the tiles

But get pregnant and boy does it get real
out come the priests and the judgement mobs
flapping blackness and condemnation
Cromwellian enthusiasm
for tormenting the murderess
with their decrees that girls are worth less
than microscopic cells
just empty vessels after all didn't you know?
she's told she's doomed forever
to regret the deed or miss the child
choosing grief or poverty
the stake or the noose
or other instruments of torture and
risking some backstreet death
no one says scratch your own itch boys
we are
still on the rack