TROLL WOMAN — a poem

Oh, so THAT’s what having something go viral is like!  For two days I was all O____O  Thank you, everyone who responded so positively to “I hate Strong Female Characters”!

I have been remarkably untroubled by trolls on this, (I wish I didn’t feel so lucky. I wish I didn’t feel my luck was certain to end).  But nevertheless,  this seems a decent moment for this particular monster-poem, written about a year after this one and before “trolls” were a thing on the internet.





I sit under a bridge and eat goats.
I like to grab their horns and twist their heads around
In one good sharp tug -
The satisfying sound of crunching bone! -
So they can look at me with their surprised and stupid yellow eyes.
Or sometimes  I hold ‘em still between my knees
And pull their flimsy legs off.
How easy to make the sinews pop and muscles tear!
What a noise they make. But if it annoys me
I knock them on the head and they shut up.
Then I can gnaw through the bristly hide
To the good bits, the fat and muscle
And blood and spittle dribble down my chin.

I like to sit on a hot stone in the sun
With my dusty feet dangling in the cold sream.
I splay my tufted toes to feel the water nosing through them
It makes me laugh.
I like to kick and smash the glittery river into bits.
But sometimes when the day gets very hot and slow
Like a fat grass-snake
I go all open-mouthed and dreamy
And watch my knobbly clawed feet all day long,
All far away and lost in the twisty stream.
I like them.
They are like rocky brown hills,
And good for stamping.

How pretty are the jewelly fish
Hidden in the water like buried treasure.
If I am patient and clever
I can dip in a hand and flip one out neatly
All silver and slippery
And clamp my teeth on its back.
I like to feel them flail and wriggle as I snap their spines.
My hands are useful for such things.
Big branchy things. Treetrunk coloured.
Maybe one day I will grow leaves.
For now I am prickly with rough brown hair
What with that and my barkish skin

I don’t feel the cold much.
My fingernails please me.
They are hard and curved and yellow like goat’s horns.
Sometimes I grow them long on purpose
For tearing hide and scratching itches
Between toes or buttocks, or else
I bite them short,and chew the bitten pieces,
If I feel like it.

Nobody bothers me. I like my loneness.
At night I like to lope and lollop
Through the whistling wet woods
Where the silvery wolves go skulking and sulking
I like trampling down the brambles
And swishing through the nettles
I make tremendous crashes.
I like to startle the soft dozy birds awake
So they jump into the cold air yelping.
I get thorns stuck in the soles of my fet
But my hide is far too tough for them
And they don’t trouble me
And in the morning it is pleasant
To pick them fastidiously out.
I could run anywhere and eat anything I liked
But I come back to this bridge because I like it.
It keeps the rain off
And casts a shade which is handy in summer.
It makes a good hiding place to jump out from
A big surprise, so large and naked!
I munch their bones and laugh at their faces.

And when the river is shallow and still
I can see myself reflected,
And look at my beautiful face.

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