Saturday, July 26, 2008



I've seen you old man,
fight a squirrel for a nut,

Your face baked hard,
a gnarled tree knot,

Hair white as acid spit.
You specialize in dice,

Drink, and coveralls. You
can catch the King

Of Snakes by the bend
at his neck, uncurling

Sleek stripes at the feet
of us grandchildren.

The way your fist uncurled
onto the Mayor's face.


In that house of skins,
watched by the glass

Eyes of game, trophies
of your cruelty,

Your plow-wide back
scoops over thawed

Coleslaw and venison.
Your hateful wish came true.

Your children only call you
asshole. But my eye has

Bored and stopped.

(2001, unrevised, unrevisited)