The Nicolson Institute: Kathleen Macdonald




I'm accelerating,
Speeding through the air.
Searching for my target,
A missile on the hunt.
A look of terror.
A blur of red
And a SMACK on your thigh.

A mark for an hour or two,
But do you think I feel no pain?
When I sting you
I feel a ripple of pain
Tearing through my rough red skin.

I smell perspiration
And devastation.
The shouts form each side wanting me.
Hating me at the same time.
I can taste cheesy crisps off their fingers,
Scoffed at break.
Sweaty palms and fingers
Grasping at me desperately.
I'm launched,

Into the hands of another.
I like the weak throwers.
I take my time
Gliding softly through the air,
Met this time by a neat catch.
A warm embrace.
I'm safe and sound
In the arms of my captor.

by Kathleen Macdonald