Prised for my Device

Can I help - hey!

She gripped my hand fiercely but I clung on to my phone.

No! No! I won't let you. She attempted to prise it from my grasp.

She didn't speak but grappled with determination as I writhed and dipped.
I hoped she didn't have a weapon such as a cosh or a metal comb.

It's only worth a fiver. That was my catchphrase.

Then give! She hissed, continuing to prise.

To my dismay I was taken up by her leather jacket
and bleached blonde hair, although her face
was brittle and shiny as a lemon moon.

I turned my back to her but she wrapped her
rabbit arm around my neck, and I inhaled the leather.

Still I wouldn't submit.

You're. Not. Getting it. 

(It had all my bird photos on it.
Over 200 different species.)

Stop wriggling.

I was an accomplished wriggler. Had been all my life.

I lifted the phone high. Look the screen's cracked, it's years out of date.

A new tactic. She kneed me vigorously in the quadriceps.
It had been 40 years since subjected to a dead leg.

She was still prising. My eyes watered a little, I will admit.
But now it was time to activate frenzy mode. The haystack,
the tornado. It was going to get messy.

You. Will. Not. Take. Me.