My mother hates lizards.
Wait. Let me correct:
She hates albino lizards.
The big thick ones with the pearlescent skin.
Those ones she hates.
There is no broom big enough,
No Baygon toxic enough to kill them.
She goes old school on them,
She uses a shoe.
Not a slipper but a big black clog.
They are her garden shoes,
Her weapon of choice for the lizards.
The lizards are smart.
They know her voice.
Probably because she talks to them.
“I comin’ to get yall!” and
“I just wanta kill ya hip!” and
“I don’t know why yall just don’t go away!”
When she kills one there is a celebration.
When she kills two she looks like Stalin,
Sweeps their bodies in a pile for the rest to see.
She obsesses about them coming in the house.
She worries that they will jump on her when she waters her plants.
The lizards have evil intentions, she is convinced.
The lizards are stealthy, conspiratorial.
They plan ways to evade her watch, sneak into the house,
Plant themselves in her sheets, terrorise her.
This is a serious war.
No lizard is safe. The word is out.
•••Maelynn Seymour-Major is a lecturer at The College of The Bahamas, in the School of English Studies. She obtained her BA in English Literature and MA in Poetic Practice from Royal Holloway, The University of London. She puts her poems up on Confessions of a Logophile. Her earlier work was also published in tongues of the ocean.