If I could take you up in my hand,
as though you were a grasshopper,
and slowly close my fist
feeling your legs twitching and scratching on my palm
as I gently crushed the life out of you
until the juice of your guts ran out down my wrist,
if I could drop your broken frame
down on the concrete floor
and flatten it under my boot heel,
would you love me then?
If I could take your last bowl of rice
and trade it in for a handful
of shiny buttons and bobbles,
and I could feed you on parades
and fearful colours,
would you love me?
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