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!
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.