Howdy partners and non-stereotypical inhabitants of the Wild West and otherwise!
Welcome to Day 14. Today I've written a poem about one of my greatest obsessions in life, SPIES. It's not the first and darn-heck sure it won't be the last, but it may be the only one in this little collection I'm putting together. Ha, who am I trying to kid? There's no plan here, I just start with the first sentence and work my way out. Here you go!
Honeypot
We’d
been out solving mysteries.
The
falcon looped with the wind
and
we fell, dextrosed into our briefcases.
It
was the passion we’d been waiting for.
A
red fox hid in the hotel room,
his
paws a mess of street dust.
He
said, “Find the raven and rule the world,”
and
then jumped out of the window.
We
made love on a typewriter,
continually
banging out the word Babstock
on
the well-worn keys.
It
was the signal they were waiting for.
The
crash came with a severing of limbs.
“Tomorrow
isn’t for the zealous sultan,” you said.
“Every
dagger will have its day,” I replied.
And
then it was over.
The
echo of a tear reaches me years later
as
I sit within the walls of my generous pension.
At
night the red fox comes through the thicket
and
we dance together in the gap of you.
No comments:
Post a Comment