Vengeance For Her Past July's Poem by James McLain

She knows someone perhaps a Judge,
I wait for the true bill, some other charge.
What was I to do, head hung low I knew,
her smell a scent a drop of something unnatural
caused me a rock so hard.

Uncontrollable, others in their lust and thoughts,
as if the very house not built by me, but was.
I paid for more than her in sex and fear as other's
watched compelled, drawn to all the drama that drama brings.


Her sex was hunted out, was drained by me as if a cow.
Prison does not teach you what it is and now I knew
I was her cow.
Her night gown with one hole her nipple saw and if I dared
then even harder were the Rock's her grip would grow.


Mother of my before daughter grew inside her grew,
a fire engine red dress and emerald green so tight I thought
that I would burst.
My surprising grapes she grew until they burst and seedlings
were as dust upon the ground the Bible said.

Cheated of their vengeance and the twin rack, they fit into.
As they gather round the crowd quite mad begin's to sucks,
the dew last tears and turn the other way the milk is gone.