In my purse

[reworked this one ...]  
   
   
 
 
   
I'm hiding something in my purse    
let me explain    
she was angling for it    
her picking up a chair was the clue    
wiry thing, she was    
that look    
the 'you fat cow I can take you' look    
she should have been right    
I should have run, cried    
middle aged caring type    
all anxiety, soft and fat    
   
but I felt like an experiment    
I felt hard    
and 'cos fuck her    
I'd been waiting for years    
to see what this rage could do    
unaccustomed as I was    
the directed heat that leapt up    
was a thrill    
a sheer, fucking, come here bitch thrill    
   
knocked that flying chair sideways    
and her after it    
(how the hell did that happen?    
the speed, knowing when and where to land?)    
locked onto her skinny wired up wrists    
smoooooth movement, arced her up    
back onto her newly 'oh my God' feet    
and swung her backwards to the post    
satisfying thwackkkk as her head    
unecessarily, beautifully    
hits it    
'mmmmm yeah, did you feel that?    
you see me now?'    
she does    
fear in her eyes    
I'm loving the confusion there    
   
sounds of running feet    
she gets taken away, and I'm fussed over    
they don't get the shakin's joy    
pure secret pleasure    
'cos now, going through life    
on these slackened, nervous legs    
ducking at every loud sound    
desperate that everyone like me    
I know it's there when I need it    
and fuck it, even if I don't    

the urge to kill    
every woman needs that    
tucked in her purse    
when aspirin and spare hankeys    
just don't cut it