The seventh day of siege dawned bright and cold
And windless. In the highest tower, where
The women, and the young, and very old
Were gathered for protection and for care,
Within the lady's bedroom, breakfast cooked
Before her spacious fireplace. The fear
Was just more to be coped with. Tally looked
A moment to the outside, heard a cheer
That wasn't the defenders, screamed and ran
To tell the head cook. As the hooks and ropes
Caught on the castle's walks, the fight began
In earnest. And the lovely stew that spat
And bubbled on the hearth? A weapon, that!
"I can't afford that one," she said, and sighed.
"It's from our budget line; we haven't got
A lower price point." That shop girl, all pride
And condescension, obviously thought
Their interaction ended. Rosie, though,
Her stump still itching, wouldn't pass one day
Without an arm! "Come on. If you'd just go
Check out the stock room --" she began to say.
"I did already. All we have back there
Are custom jobs." "Did any get returned
Or not picked up?" The shop girl smirked. "You care
If it's got limitations? We got burned --"
"I'll take it. Graft it on this instant, please."
And that's why Maddy's hand can just slice cheese.
Dear Mom and Dad, can I please come home soon?
This camp is horrible. I'm always cold,
Each morning starts off with a nasty tune
Played on... it's called an antler? And we're told
Just what to do each minute! How's the reef?
How's my seahorse? Don't ride her. Only I
Can ride her, grandpa said. Oh no, our "chief" --
We're all some kind of engines? -- just came by
And said it's time for yet another "trek"
Down to the darker water. I just hate
It here. Oh, and last night I got the "heck"
Beat out of me by trout girls. Now I'm late.
Please send someone to fetch me to the sea.
Signed, love, your Kleo, longing to be free!
The baby had survived, and she had saved
The mother, too, with fungus from some bread.
The grateful father, totally enslaved
By common sense, joined those who wished her dead.
Thus finished Mistress Goodweather's last year
Among us. She'd no husband living to
Speak up for her, and so prevailing fear
(And disregard for those -- all women -- who
Did argue for her preservation) meant
A tow'ring bonfire was erected there
In village center. When the dame had spent
Her time in prison, screaming in the care
Of parsons, she was brought forth for to burn,
But rescued by the goodwives. Some folks learn!
Coordinates aired on a TV show
Led to a spot from which, it could be seen,
The trees' denuded branches, in the glow
Of twilight, formed a face. What did it mean?
No one could say, but none who saw it felt
Like leaving. Force was needed for to lead
All comers from the site. And those who dwelt
Nearby? They were the first to feel the need,
The longing, the compulsion they called love,
But others called fixation. To a one,
They ceased to eat or drink, and would speak of
No thing but their obsession. Now it's done.
They've pined away. Their bodies form a mound
On what we all now know is sacred ground.
I hope you like this stew, I made it just
For you and lovely Karen. It's so rare
To have such neighbors one can really trust.
Have more, I do insist. I mean it. There
Is plenty, and I'm proud of it. You taste
My secret additive, I bet! You two,
No fooling you! What's that? No, no, don't waste
A moment while it's hot. No, really, you...
Your kids are fine. Whatever do you mean?
They're outside in the yard. See them at play?
I do not like your tone. Don't make a scene!
I'd never harm them. Cook them? Oh, I say!
That's horrifying! What? That's what you'd like?
Excuse me, then. Oh no, please, no, don't strike--
The candidates were seated in a row
To vie for the attention of a few
Well-interested voters. Starting slow,
Things picked up when an office-seeker, who
Was way back in the polls, at last called out
That one was missing, and had yet to make
Appearance at a single such meet. "Shout
Her name, perhaps she's in the hall?" "I'd take
A bet she's never been here, ever." "She
Was here last week!" "So I've heard many say,
But no one e'er directly seems to see
Her in the flesh. Just photos. There's no way."
Her empty seat said nothing. No one could
Explain her vict'ry later. She's that good?
"It means I'm smart," the candidate had bragged,
And 'cross the nation, millions dud agree.
They voted and cajoled and even dragged
Their friends out to the polls, and, glory be,
The Dodger was our President-Elect!
He took his oath and made appointments, set
About the business, with a select
And comely, shapely, laughing cabinet.
Then April came, and millions who'd admired
His stance did as he had. Not one did file
A tax return. Then millions of them fired
Each other, paid in cash with cunning smiles
Beneath the table, and all other tricks
He'd touted. Now he's in a pretty fix.
A rodent came to me, and it knew more
About me than my mother does, I'd bet.
Its gaze did penetrate me to the core,
Although the two of us had barely met.
It hypnotized me, I believe, or did
I always have grey fur like this? A tail?
These black and liquid eyes? Where have I hid -- ?
Yes, look at me, and deeply. There's a trail
We're following into the woods. You see?
Look closer, focus, feel it 'neath your feet.
This is the place we're truly meant to be,
With acorns and such other things to eat.
You understand? Hold on, I'm coming there.
What's wrong, my friend? Now all you do is stare.
'Most ev'rybody's been there, but most don't
Remember it. A garden, lush and green
And deathly quiet stands where people won't
Suspect it. There they live. The air is clean,
The water pure. They have no dwellings. We
Who know them, know we'll never understand
Their presence. One brave soul, long since set free
From this existence, once brought back a strand
Of something like a hair. Its DNA
Is earthly; they are close to us, more kin
Than even chimpanzees, but there's no way
They're just some hiding humans. Take their skin,
Pale green, as though they sport some chlorophyll.
I think they're of the future, if you will.
They'd come from space; to space they would return,
This mighty warlike fleet -- but lo, a cat
Had swallowed ev'ry ship! They'd have to burn
Their way out of its flesh. Each spaceship that
Now found itself within began to fire
Its lasers. Meanwhile, on a mat, asleep,
The puss began to glow. Its state was dire,
But mercifully it did not wake ere, deep
Within it, came destruction. Now all, free
And angry, did the ships emerge to blast
To rubble ev'ry city they found. We
Cared not to lose our termites and, at last,
Our ants, but slowly all here came to ruin
As none did what those bugs had e'er been doing.
The scrimshaw piece -- it should have been a sign --
That his guard cherished, showed to ev'ryone,
Was beautiful, of curious design,
And obviously a trophy. Point a gun
At any man, his treasure becomes yours.
The day his captor noticed that his face
Resembled the most prominent of scores
Carved in the ivory, Tad Dixon's case
Was terminal. The guard so longed to learn
The art he so admired, he took his knife
And started on Tad's flesh. Each carving turn
Improved the man's technique, but Dixon's life
Was short. When Allies came to liberate
The camp, he bled his last. They were too late.
"Ms. Willis, we might get your money back,
But then again we could ignobly fail."
Ms. Beck, a stone facade without a crack
Let this defrauded mother rage and wail
Awhile, and then explained what must be done.
Young Duke was fitted out with microtech
To capture his experiences, then one
Fine Monday, with the blessing of Ms. Beck,
He went to school. The footage he brought home
Was shocking. Upon entry, he was shot
With something that induced in him a numb
And dreamless sleep! At day's end "You forgot,
Just have your mother sign this. Field Trip Day
Is soon! We're going to whisk you all away!"
Down at the bottom of a glacial lake,
High in the mountains, where the water's cold
Is most profound, a lac-maid's worst mistake
Occurred one day when she found, set in gold
A shining opal. Like her ocean kind
(Called mermaids) she did dearly love a gem!
But this one started playing with her mind
Ere she could even bring it to her den.
The winter comes much sooner, up so high,
And her trout half would let her hibernate
Beneath the ice until spring's thaw was nigh.
This year, though, addled, she thought t'would be great
To pass the season up atop the ice.
Her frozen corpse has been discovered twice.
The person who first stepped down from the ship,
Whose boot first trod Proxima b's dry dust
Was only nine years old. The long, long trip,
Produced new generations, as such must.
Jah Wrench was one of these -- and of the few
Who still survived, she was the strongest, tough
And literate. She'd captained them on through
The last stretch of the journey, just enough
Resources left to keep the children fed
And breathing. Now she'd have to lead the band
On this new world. Soon they must move their dead
From shipsoil into this unpromised land
To fertilize it. So much to be done!
She shook her fist up at the big, red sun.
The tree was old as old. Its berries, tart
But tempting, drew the birds from miles around
To feast, but only when the juicy heart
Of ev'ry fruit was well fermented. Sound
And fury and intoxicated flight
Would follow then, as any might expect,
But something always happened overnight,
The flocks of morning, maddened, strong and wrecked
Were filled with strange hostility as each,
Once bowels were emptied (purple stains galore,
A dire warning), all as one would screech
And dive bomb any mammal by the score.
Thus August brought death on the angry wing ,
The tree just standing silent. Vicious thing...
"My boy has had straight As in ev'ry grade,"
Jo Willis bragged "His teachers told me he
Was quite the model student." "I'm afraid
They weren't truthful." "Huh? You kidding me?
Duke, come out here." A sullen, sleepy boy
Obeyed, but soon his mother sent him back;
He'd demonstrated little but a joy
In stomping ants. "He truly seems to lack
The basics. Can he even tie his shoes?"
"He's seventeen!" His mother roared. Ms . Beck
Just raised her eyebrows. "Ma'am, I got to choose
Where he went for his schooling. Ev'ry check --"
"I'm sure they cleared, but 'Ross Ecole' is not
A thing that's real." "You mean that I've been got?"
She sat way in the back for ev'ry class.
Poor vision had him up in the front row.
Denise, not one to let this stop a pass
Of notes, propped up a book so that it would not show,
What she was up to. Ere the first week's end
The app was written. Now her only task:
To get it on his phone. But not one friend
Had they in common, not one kid to ask
To help her. She'd resort to NFC
If needed. Woe to her: his phone was Fruit,
While hers was not. "Just wasn't meant to be,"
She sighed, and didn't tell him he was cute
Until a school reunion - 30 years! -
"You might have just said 'Hi'" said he. Such Tears!
The shooting star that fiery streaked the sky
Went unremarked by any that would know
It was no star. And not one sentient eye
Beheld what crawled up from the crater's glow.
"Looks like we're way too late," a being said
While hoisting out a fellow. "Not again!"
The other cried. "Now, now, don't lose your head..."
(We're taking liberties; their language then
Was unlike any human speech). "We might
Find in the rubble something that will tell
Us what we need to hear!" For many nights
And days they searched through all the burnt-out hell
That was our Planet Earth, then gave up. "How
Will we learn who killed Laura Palmer now?'
"I know that you will do it," bade the will,
Near irresistible, of Dragon Blunt
Good Doctor Famulus, held quiet, still,
And nearly helpless by that gaze did grunt,
Then spoke at last. "You need to set me free,"
He stammered. "I can't help you with a mind
And body pinned like this. Thanks. Now, let's see
That hip." The worm then gingerly did wind
And turn. "You're young to have such wear. Just four
Millennia? How odd. But I'll say yes,
Provided Gend the Smith can do the chore
Of making a replacement joint, I'd guess
I can. Until then, though, stay off it. Fly
But do not walk on that, and I'm your guy."
Since Limbco stopped supporting its well-famed
Dependable prosthetics, Shan'd been forced
Into programming them himself. He'd gained
In skill but lost efficiency. The course
They'd offered when the change was first announced
Had covered basics, but he soon grew tired
Of voice commands on each step, so he pounced
The day he found the Limbrary! Required
To register, he did, but would regret
That soon. Tooth brushing packages were great;
Shoe-tying, too, and hair-coming, but let
Us speak not of, er, wiping. Shan, of late,
Is back to step by step commands there, for
He'd rather not graffito anymore.
The last corpse on the battlefield turned out
To still be living. And per gen'ral rules
All efforts must be made to bring about
A better outcome yet. "Have you your tools,
Your unguents and ointments, Wisdom Rhee?"
The soldiers did demand. "Of course I do,"
The alchemist replied. "Just bring to me
The weapon that hath made these wounds, and you
Will see them healed. This salve, smeared on it will--"
He stopped. She'd looked a porcupine when found.
Per regs, the arrows in her that were still
Of use were pulled and fired back. "Confound
You fools!" said Rhee. "Go out and bring me all
You find." A pile of missiles soon grew tall.
Those little paw prints tracking up the sand
Along the vast Pacific's northern shore
That parallel much larger ones are grand
If none too permanent clues proving lore
That Milo Mudfoot and his hero, Jack
Were first to cross this continent entire.
Arriving on a privateer out back
And east somewhere, then, never did they tire,
They journeyed with a wagon train along
The trail to Oregon. Their masters had
Succumbed to dysentery, but this strong,
Resilient pair of pups, through good and bad,
Had made it. Now they bark at crashing waves
And have all any doggies e'er could crave!
On its advice, our Alice soldiered on
So far across the sand and brush it seemed
She'd left the world behind. One lonely dawn,
However, something out there fiercely gleamed,
Like high-rise window glass, and then a smell
Of water came to Alice, quickening
Her steps. She thought at first, perhaps, a well
Or tiny spring awaited, thickening
The air around it as the desert drank.
What she found when she reached it, though, was not
What she'd expected. Huge, a water tank
Did loom above a lawn of cheatgrass, hot
And raw, and some contraption next it sprayed
A mist into the atmosphere. Man-made!
The forest floor was dry. The needles shed
By long-dead evergreens crunched underneath
The hikers' boots 'Twas as if all had fled,
E'en water from the creek beds. No relief,
Save what they'd brought in bottles, could be found.
The air itself seemed it would dessicate
Their flesh. Still up they climbed, the stony ground
A challenge, but all right. Then it grew late.
A likely spot they knew of was the site
They camped at, with no fire, lest they should burn
The region down. They nodded off that night...
Just how it happened we did never learn.
When others found them, at midday, the pair
Were crisp and desiccated, lying there.
July the Fifth, out on the Seventh Green,
Dawned peacefully, until Ms. Johnson brought
Her cart across the grass to play. No scream
As yet, until her friend unhapp'ly sought
An errant ball. She found it, sure, but there
Beside it was -- "Good God, is that a hand??"
It was indeed. But whose? The girls did stare
In shock, regretting their most recent stand
Against on-course libations. When at last
A course employee stopped with them, as one
They screamed and pointed. "Oh!" he said. "That's great!
"Un-handy Andy earned his name. Yeah, fun!"
"What do you mean?" "Oh, see, just after eight
Last night, he ran the fireworks, and he blew--"
"Oh God, don't tell us. Let's all just play through."
-Inspired by Andy Van Tol
A sign a town is small is seen on days
When towns all over hold parades, as on
July the Fourth. In Togie Town, always
The line up takes more time than e'er does yon
Procession (down four blocks). For yet more fun
The early floats must discharge quickly, that
Someone be there to see the later ones;
Contrariwise, those entries who come at
The end form all the spectators at first,
Then run to line up as their turns approach.
Those in the middle have it much the worst,
Seen not, and seeing no one. None dared broach
The issue 'til this year: all those who sought
Elective office always there were caught.
The station was the oldest, and the last
Left orbiting the ruined planet, and
No population policies had passed
In generations. As numbers did expand
So did the station. Now it was a mess
Of modules built in haste, each one less strong
And sturdy than the last. The last address
The council'd given said that they'd been wrong
Last time, and so a panic run on steel
And other metal swept the place. They took
It all, the cooking tools, the weapons, and
Poor Sanger's long life's work. One final look
Was all he was allowed. His sculptor's hand
Runs now along the shoddy wall they made
Of all his art, lest memory now fade.
As plots go, this one was so devious
No one could hold it in his head entire.
But what took Prince Trew far too soon from us
Began just with some seeds. Released by fire
As lore instructed, they were planted by
His royal hand when he was only four.
The tree grew as he did. At 35
He took the throne. Beneath the tree the score
Of gems were added to his crown. At last,
The final stone set in, a blossom burst
And dusted him with pollen. All too fast
He took his final breath. With that the first
Of his five sisters got the crown instead.
She gloated. 'Twas her gift that left him dead.
The crew rowed Sir Tom Bewick to the shore
That he was sure he had discovered first.
But waiting there for him was something more
Than just a tiny greeting party. Worse:
They spoke no English, and Sir Tom, of course
Had no idea what gibberish they shared
Their thoughts of him with. Each group was a source
Of fascination to the other. Scared,
The natives eyed him. Sir Tom eyed them back.
Had either group the other understood,
They'd laugh, for each were fearing an attack
By cannibals! It was too bloody good.
Sir Tom dined on headhunter tales for years;
The natives still have white man-hunter fears!
She'd knocked Gas out, the rest of them were dead
Or hiding. Alice stormed into the waste,
Her chatty rifle silent, out of lead
Or good advice. With nothing left to chase
Or question, Alice just kept walking. Dry
And empty, like the land that swallowed her,
She felt no purpose. Nothing left to try,
Nowhere to go. With nothing left to spur
Her onwards, finally she broke the still
And empty silence. "Gun, where can we get
More bullets? And, then, when we fill
You up again, what do you say we let
Someone in charge know that we're here, if such
Exists?" "Well yes, I'd like that very much!"
What rose up from the burning trees was not
Just any ordinary drifting smoke.
The flames were not just ordinar'ly hot.
'Twas something in the wood, perhaps. They spoke
At first of beetles; timber they had killed
Burnt diff'rently. But soon the valley knew,
Especially those who'd worked that wood, who'd milled
It into Forest Products: it was blue
And lovely, yes, but it was also cursed.
As smoke did cloud the valley, each man saw
As enemies his neighbors. All dispersed.
Distrust grew into hate and fear. The law
Was powerless. The murders didn't stop
Until one frightened cop was left on top.
That afternoon, along a lonely beach,
Where seldom ventured visitors, occurred
The last thing we'd expect. The creature's reach,
Its native waters, are, so I have heard
Entirely unlike where it appeared.
Nor does its kind come often upon land.
It swam the sand and soil until it neared
My sister's home. In haste did Krissy stand
And shoo away -- but 'twas I she dismissed!
"I have to take this" was all that she said.
I left but lingered; just to see what this
Was all about. I watched her shake her head
And wave her hands in anger, so I thought,
But couldn't tell from my poor hiding spot.
"A better time there ain't," Eeago said
As his own lord and master took a look
At their new list of pris'ners and of dead.
"No one here could oppose us." Duke Drmpf shook
His orange head. "The rest, though, they'll come back
When done are all those dread hostilities.
And they'll undo our work." "Not if we stack
The deck while they are gone. My dear lord, please
Consider this. We call a vote before
More time escapes us. With it we'll declare
Those now abroad are citizens no more..."
"You're right! The dolts still here don't even care.
They'll vote with us, and then we just point out
Those who return are foreign, with no clout!"
There's only ever one way to defeat
The Great Regression Field, that pulls us down
Below our sentience. We cannot cheat
Or trick a way on through. The Chosen, brown
Of hair and eye, was born for sacrifice.
From birth he was prepared for this one task,
Trained only to destroy the fell device.
No language did he learn, or skills. We asked
One thing alone of him, our brute, our dumb
But vital boy. He set off yesterday.
When all else hit the field, their minds go numb
And ne'er recover, witless beasts of clay.
Thus we are governed. But, should he succeed,
This planet can be ours again, indeed!
The fangs that gleamed in her attacker's maw
Were small and sharp, but not yet blood-stained. She
Watched carefully her foe's quick-twitching jaw
That feinted at her throat again. A wee
But speedy paw deflected, too, thus strike
Just like the multitudes before. No, Death --
Nor yet un-death would claim her now. I'd like
To tell you Sadie Rus-tese never lost her breath
Or took a scratch, but 'gainst a vampire-cat
That can't be so. But with her long, long limbs
She kept the thing at bay, e'en as it spat
And hissed its vilest threats. Throughout the grim
And endless night they battled, until dawn
Destroyed the monster. Sadie simply yawned.
Jack Rottbador, the loyal guardian to
The little Queen of Scots, while she, in France
Endured attacks from ev'rywhere, came through
Most specially when somehow, by some chance
Wee Mary showed up with a pomander
Of brilliant hue and sweet and sickly scent.
She loved it so, she kept it close to her
At all times, so its perfume'd soon be spent.
No one could make her give it up. And when
Just days since she'd received it, she grew pale
And listless, she clung to it more. There'd been
A panic; she'd been poisoned! How? The wail
Fell on deaf canine ears. He saw the ball,
Then snatched, then lost it near the palace wall!
Nobody saw the monster -- well, except
For Rosie, pint-sized ball of ire and fur
And anger that intruders might beset
Her territory. Were this to occur
She'd kill or else be killed! Among her stock
Of weapons was her mighty sonic shriek.
She used it 'gainst all foes around the clock
With varying success. It was quite weak
On deer and power mowers, cats and those
Across the street who went about their chores
Like nought was wrong. At nighttime, though, there rose
The ghasts and gaunts and ghouls that she abhors,
That she alone can see. They shall not feed
While she can bark, they agonize indeed.
It was a Tuesday, very hot for June,
When Zoe told the others what she'd learned.
The dogs declared this very afternoon
Was when they'd act upon the rage which burned
In each of them. By ones and twos they left
Their yards (their masters working or at naps)
And all, the mighty dogs whose heft
Defeated humans; smaller ones whose yaps
Pierced space and time, did gather at the place
Described by Zoe, and began their Howl
Of Condemnation. Ev'ry canine face
Was black with concentration. One last yowl
And lo, the ritual was quite complete,
Cat killer's screams of horror sounding sweet.
Another kitten found dead in the road.
Miss Zoe Boxer knew this could not be
Coincidence! But information flowed
So poorly in her neighborhood. "I'm free,"
She reasoned. "Ev'rybody else is stuck
In fences. Only I can roam about
And find the truth! All right, then, wish me luck!"
From yard to yard she rambled. Over shouts
From humans to "Go home" she did consult
With all the canine sages. No one knew
Why feral kittens met with such results.
But then, in one vast driveway -- yes! A clue!
A dish of antifreeze was proffered there.
No critter who drank of it lived to share!
As Albert Einstein stretched his corgi legs
(A deeply cute and funny thing to see)
His daughter, Margaret Thatcher cried "I beg
You once again to do this thing for me!"
(She said this with her face and tail, of course;
E'en corgis cannot speak the Queen's). "All right,"
Her daddy said. "Your nags at last hath force."
(They're quite expressive, no?) "I shall not fight.
We'll find a house that suits us. Turn it on."
An HGTV marathon ensued.
The perfect tiny house would be theirs! Gone
Would be that too-high furniture! Their food
Would ne'er be out of reach! One problem, though:
In so small quarters, where'd their human go?
Suzanne and Rick had full lives, but as age
Crept up on them, they did admit some need.
Rick hated carebots, though. Then, on a page
In Cyber Fancy, their son chanced to read
An ad for a new breed of home-care tech:
NurseDogz! Thus came to their old house a pair
Of fuzzy poodles, programmed well to check
Blood pressure and such other stats as their
Physicians liked to know. And they were cute!
But soon Rick had subverted Willow, who
Reverted to her yappy, happy roots
And lied on her reports. Then Gracie, too
Developed glitches. Suzanne's crafty hack
Let her shop Amazon behind Rick's back!
O'Liam spent his days upon high plains
Beneath the purest skies, the brightest sun.
He filled his canteen at streams fed by rains
The gods themselves had sent. When day was done
He played his pipes then slept in starlight, glad
And merry. All was happiness until
Roe Rippon met his end, and met it bad.
This left a vacancy for Li to fill.
The herd was wondrous, beauty on the hoof,
Each mare of shining whiteness that would blind
Mere laymen's eyes. But those who called the Roof
Of Mountains home, were chosen. All was fine.
But then a stallion found the herd. Li failed
To fend him off, and, like Roe, died impaled.
Two hundred ninety nine, and then there's me
A-waiting in the pass to take on more
Humanity than otherwise we'd see
Within our lifetimes. As it's said in lore
About such situations, we are doomed,
But, too, some stories from much further east
Talk of the little guy, as tall death loomed,
Who took it down as eas'ly as a beast
For slaughter. So, obedient to your laws
We stand. This Xerxes, he's still just a man
And men are mortal. Plus, we have a cause:
Our lands and all for which we feel they stand.
What's that? I hear a whoosh, and feel a pain
Between my eyes. Am I thus to be slain?
The dinner by the railroad tracks looked closed,
But smells of frying bacon, coffee, eggs
And maple syrup wafted out. Supposed
A body wandered in, Lynch thought. His legs
Were stiff from walking. Breakfast would be nice!
He sidled in. She nodded toward a seat.
"Sure thing. You sure don't have to tell me twice!"
He laughed. Soon he was finishing a sweet
And toasty roll with coffee. Then she slid
Into his booth. "We're at the KOA,"
She told him. "How'd you know? I's just a kid
Last time they did the ritchul." She would say
No more. And at the campground, a new stake
Was pounded in. Lynch soon would feed the Slake.
So badly wounded he could barely stand
Came Fenrir. The apothecary groaned
To see him. Werewolves, he'd said, should be banned.
Now here one was. "Please help me, Fenrir moaned
And held up one bright token that could not
E'er be rejected. He was hemorrhaging.
"Oh no! 'Tis a disaster! I have got
So little blood in stock!" "Doc, this thing --"
"Yes, yes, shut up. But all I have is Vlad.
I need more donors!" "Doc, you must obey --"
"I know. But this will be so very bad..."
But this transfusion did indeed take place,
And now a werewolf-vampire's ours to face.
As we talked, this strange woman who both was
And wasn't my own sister, honeybees
Surrounded us. They lighted, did not buzz,
Just quietly awaited something. "Please,"
She said with some anxiety, "Hold still."
I did -- I am allergic -- and we sat
That way for what seemed hours. When the chill
Of ev'ning then set in, a tabby cat,
A stray, jumped on the porch's railing, hissed,
And drove the bees away. "So then about
"These cultists," I began, but ageless Kris
Stole all my thought with such an angry glare
I felt that there was murder in that stare!"
Ms . Suki flew a cargo freighter on
A fixed, unchanging route. A run took weeks,
Much of that time spent waiting to be gone
While maint crews did their thing. When Suki speaks
Of downtime, she knows best of anyone
The boredom that entails. It's no surprise,
Then, that on Ceres she has lots of fun,
A swinging single, while elsewhere grey eyes
(Her wife's) light up when her route brings
Her "home". And inside yet another rock
Two husbands raise her children. How these things
Were all discovered ends with screams and shock.
Her wife and younger husband, there on tryst
Had just meet Suki's girlfriend in their midst.
The asteroid was not on many charts,
And bore no ore to make it worth the while
Of any who'd exploit it 'round those parts.
So it was perfect for a man of guile
Like Kwame Mikkelsen to build a place
Where secrets were exchanged, where shady deals
Were made and kept, where those of any race
Might go to mingle over hasty meals.
So he'd imagined, but reality
Made it more sordid yet. As tumbling rock
Did turn, more wedding vows were broken than
At any other dive. No ticking clock
Or tug of gravity stopped dame or man
From doing as they pleased. Then Suki Page
Hijacked a freighter, crashed it there in rage!
When Nol was born, no pilgrimage occurred
To see him, and no costly gifts were laid
Beside his bed. No bright and godlike bird
Announced his coming. No one's even made
An icon of this great event, but all
Know ev'ry moment of it, from the worst
Contractions that his mother felt, the bawl
He let loose when the air, so cold at first
Met his bare bottom. Now, as time and age
Have found him, none of us can see or hear
Or leave our beds. We've trembled with his rage
And laughed with him. It only took one smear
Of his blood on our skins. We all are he
And only when he's gone will we be free.
Through icy seas and storms, their longship had
Survived, and they'd sailed west in search of new
Unplundered settlements. Ashore and clad
In leather and in furs and clutching blue
And stolen steel, Gudrun and Halfdan strode
Into Vinland's interior with their kin.
And plenty game they found, but no abode
Of men. One cannot raid where there has been
No one creating wealth. "We only find
A hunting ground," said Gudrun to her man.
"If there is metal here, we'd have to mine
And smelt it on our own. And break the land
Ourselves to plow it." Halfdan nodded. They
Stayed not. All eyes then watched them sail away.
They hadn't really thought things fully through
When they established this fine school. They'd named
It after an inspiring author, who
Was much admiréd, but when that time came
To choose a mascot -- oh, it's still too soon
To talk about what happened? Not all folk
Know how their loved ones died? But hey, it's June
And football ended months ago! The smoke
Still hasn't cleared? The field's still burning? Get
Yourselves together! There's a summer term
Beginning in just days! Yes, I just met
The chancellor, who said so. Yes, the burn
Is sad, and I am sure the dragon feels
As sorry as the staff, right now, for reals!
He built the hallways narrow, made the walls
Look thick, but in reality conduct
And amplify all sounds, so tunes, phone calls
And conversations sometimes really sucked
For all the neighbors -- but not always. Drains
And sewer pipes were yet another way
To torment, subtle stinks to waft. The brains --
The lizard bits at least -- were made to play
Inconstant tricks on residents throughout
The day and night. In public spaces each
Was rubbed 'gainst each 'til murders came about.
The architect, instead of Ire and blame
Received state contacts! Hundreds of the same!
'Your knight swings you like he just hacked you off
A log. It's like you're made of rotting wood!"
"You're hardly anything to swish and scoff!
That knave is going to shatter you for good --
The smith that forged you rushed too quickly through
Your tempering. Just look at all those cracks!"
"Which one of us has got a rare and blue
Bright diamond in the pommel? Just what hacks --
Ow!" "Haha! I nicked you fair and square!
I may not be all fancy, but this ain't
The first duel I've been drawn in." "Do you dare
Imply I'm just a decorations?" "Blades!
Shut up; we're trying to fight. Don't snipe like maids!"
The Tyrant knew that there had been a plot
Against his life and power, but to find
Conspirators! So far his men had not,
And this weighed very heavy on his mind.
The morning Deipnotes brought him a sheaf
Of parchment he had intercepted in
Agora, at first there'd been only rage:
The damning lines had quickly, to the grief
Of Deipnotes, just vanished from the page!
The Tyrant tossed it carelessly upon
His table and did banish his young man
(Until, at least, he needed him to don
His cupbearer disguise). Thus passed a span
Of fretful hours, until a brazier's heat
Brought back the letters of the plan, complete!
The sign read "De-Tattooing - Painless - Free".
He'd driven by it ev'ry day and rubbed
The ink upon his forearm. "Lorelei
Forever." His sweet wife had always dubbed
It Fred's mistake, and made him promise no
Such thing would bear her name. Why not find out
What could be done? The woman made a show
Of checking out the art, then said "About
Ten minutes." Then, though he'd not said
To do it, she applied the gun and smiled.
It drew the ink from out his skin. His head
Grew heavy. As she worked, his dreams were wild.
When he awoke, he sat within his truck,
No ink, or mem'ry of his life or luck.
He haunted thrift stores when his time was free,
Bought broken things to fix, but not to sell.
His home was crammed with bygone tech, some he
Could never use, its very function well
Made obsolete. Still Michael had the urge,
Still he accumulated ancient clocks
That kept poor time, computers that a surge
Of power had destroyed but still had blocks
Of memory... His hoard exceeded soon
His home's capacity. Then, one sad day
A ghost town's old museum did announce
Its closing, yea, forever. Nought could stay
(A reservoir would flood it). He did pounce
And spent six months removing, bit by bit,
A fire-watch tower. What to do with it?
The aliens' religion made no sense
Until Wade Poppy stole the new device
That Doctor Grimes invented (at expense
Beyond belief) that, when activated twice
Sent pulses to observers' brains that made
Beholders see themselves when looking at
A stranger of another species. Wade
Gained entry to their Temple Ararat
(It's not known why they built there). What he saw
Explained it all. Their ancient god, a twin
To Ronald Reagan without e'en one flaw,
Was why they showed such ecstasy when they
Met humans. They had come to earth to pray!
The schoolroom "pet" that year was not a beast,
But was, in fact, a lemmintree that grew
Upon the window sill, where it faced east
And filled the school with scent from its pale blue
And brown-eyed flowers, 'til they dropped. The fruit
That grew from then on started yellow and
Then deepened. When mature, each, like a flute
Emitted lovely notes. They formed a band
That played enchanting tunes at sunset. One
Sad day, though, they fell ripe and ran away.
The class gave chase, and thought it was great fun,
Until they reached the cliffs above the spray
Of Mora's sea. The lemmins rampaged on
Despite the weeping children. They were gone!
Hans Liebaum raised a wolf cub, sweet and tame
And most intelligent. It almost spoke
As humans did, Hans swore (he had no shame
About tale-telling). One dark night, a joke
Occurred to him. He taught his lupine friend
Its part, o'er months, until a village fair
Nearby their woodland home came round again.
That night a full moon shone. Without a care
Hans danced a merry jig beside the fire,
Called out "what's that?" and when the people turned
Swapped in his wolf, dressed in his clothes. The shire,
Astounded by this magic, nearly burned
The square. The legend born on that wild night
Lives on in werewolf tales. Don't let them bite!
The scene they left, the rifle and its girl,
Is best left undescribed. Tea parties should
Have nicer endings than a haze and whirl
Of lead destroying their whole neighborhood,
But such are things out in the deadly waste.
The jackalope with two heads would have peace
From squabbles at the very least. In haste,
Though, Alice hadn't checked her ammo. Feast
Then famine for her weapon. That's why Gas
Survived and now was at her side, a stream
Of promises, apologies, too fast
To comprehend. He'd built a head of steam
'Til Alice stopped her striding. "Gas, you know,
Just shut your mouth." It only took one blow.
He'd checked a dozen times, but nothing 'bout
That ice cream truck was sinister. Indeed,
The driver was a frat brother. His shout
That first day was expressing his mere need
For beers after his shift; soon Cooley'd made
A great new friend. But then came rain that would
Not stop. As his child grew, the plans he'd laid
Proved problematic. Roads washed out for good,
Thick mold appeared on ev'rything, his wife
Had allergy attacks that almost killed
Them both, and still the rain fell. "Eff my life!"
Said Tad (the ice cream man) on a quick break.
Come see this massive earthworm! Why'd you shake?'
Of course, my younger son and I went to
The town of Digby, there to see if she
They called Kris Pollard really could be who
They claimed. The woman certainly could be
My sister; she looks just as Krissy did
At age sixteen. My sister, though, is twice
That age (and then some). Too, this ageless kid,
She knows us not. I took her wife's advice
(Each generation, she has found it best
To marry her caretaker, simplify
Her complex mode of life that way): a pest
Gets fewer answers. Now and then we try
A song, a photo, but so far her mind
Connects them to much older things, we find.
The red corvette sped by, a hundred miles
Per hour on his radar. Trooper Bopp
Flipped on his lights and siren, called to Stiles,
Patrolling just ahead to aid the stop.
A merry chase ensued until the sticks
Had shredded three new tires. The young men,
All brown and Spanish speaking, had no tricks
That Bopp and Stiles were new to. There had been
A pound of weed beneath some coffee grounds,
And forty pine air fresheners hung from
The ceiling of the car, to stump the hounds.
As handcuffs clicked, Bopp crowed "You guys are dumb."
A minivan, old lady at the wheel,
Eased by, its cocaine cargo safe. Good deal.
A prion malady affecting deer
Was Deirdre's research topic: not to cure
But to control it. Ever there's the fear
That populations will exceed the sure
Capacity of habitats. To hunt
Or eat the animals was not the way
On Deirdre's planet. One day, with a grunt
Of triumph, an assistant, Donnie Ray,
Showed off results with promise, and the news
Did reach the money men too quickly. Thus
Field testing in the wild, that would yield clues
Concerning flaws, was skipped. Therefore the fuss
Is justified. Now ev'ry town's beset
By telepathic ungulates, O vet!
The pair checked in just ere the crack of dawn.
They both looked tired, but one seemed quite near death,
So pale and wan. The other gave a yawn
That showed vast teeth, e'en as there puffed no breath.
I realized what I witnessed, but I had
No choice. I'm just a desk clerk, had to rent
A room to them. It's legal, but it's bad
That folk can choose so exploitive and bent
A way to make a living. Vampires are
E'er at advantage, rich and sexy, too,
So I bet they don't pay well. "Park the car,"
This one bid his blood bag. "And as for you,
You're coming too, to feed me, as you're bid."
"Uh, no!" I said, but then of course I did.
What Icarus and Daedelus had done
Was not entir'ly wrong, as Donocles
Concluded. From his childhood in the sun
Of Thebes, his thoughts had tended toward these
Ideas. Where had those two gone so wrong?
The boy had flown too high; his sin of pride
Was what most took away, ne'er mind the long
And careful planning of his father. Wide
Was Donocles's smile. They all forgot
The sun could not have melted those fine wings
Were they not bound by wax. But cords and knots
Would fare much better! Soon he'd put these things
In order, and sent skyward his own boy...
Who failed to fly at all. Still not the ploy.
From deep within the tree trunk watched a man
Who'd disappeared within it long ago,
His price for going forward with a plan
To guard his own descendants, see them grow
In safety from his enemies. From there
Beneath the bark and sap, his will held sway.
When raiding parties came to strip him bare
They found him not. His family, at play
Did never know their danger. Swarms of bees
And other creatures barred those who'd attack,
As Father willed. And through the centuries
His tree spread suckers, claiming rich and black
And fertile land for all his progeny.
A bargain quite well struck, if you ask me.
"Bestseller" was a title from his dreams,
But now it was quite real for Cooley. All
His wishes had come true, as though bright beams
Of pure good fortune shone on him. The tall
And handsome woman he had married then
Told him he'd be a father in the spring.
His joy could not be measured. When a friend
Joked that it was just like his books (a string
Of such remarks were made), he tried to laugh
It off, but when one day an ice cream truck
Began patrolling on his street, he half
Began to cry. "It's just coincidence,"
His mother cooed, but that just made him wince.
Such clues there were to work with! Few made sense.
Her nephew has no mem'ry of the stunt
He called his mom about; the strange, intense
And quiet intonations, let's be blunt
Of those school children are in no known tongue.
Meanwhile, the captain has his own thing on
(It's gender reassignment, and it stung
His wife when he came clean about it). Gone
She still remains, and no one -- wait, what's this?
Dear list'ners, new reports keep coming in!
A man in Nova Scotia claims that Kris --
Yes, her, Miss Pollard -- all these years has been
An ageless resident of Digby town
Ere since the cornerstone was there laid down!
As adaptations went, this was unique.
The heroes of the novels were transformed
By TV into cowards, thieves and sneaks;
The villains were redeemed. The fans were warned
That changes would be happening, lest, stale
And run by rote, the story'd be a bore
For those who'd read the books, but that did fail
To stave off ire and violence. A score
Of scripters soon were threatened, and, likewise,
Some TV fans who'd taken up the books
While waiting for new seasons set their eyes
Upon a stand-in "writer", one whose looks
Incensed them all the more. The author, though
Was really the same guy who ran the show.
The first year on the generation ship,
Made natural-ish, at least on the inside
Almost became the last, long ere its trip
Was past the asteroids. A bona fide
And serious tribe of neo-pagans had
Formed up, perhaps from homesickness, and they
Determined that traditions, good and bad,
Must be preserved; yes, they should find a way
To keep all holidays, and be as like
The celebrations held in days of yore.
The gardens' yellow flowers saw a spike
In harvesting, but what near caused the war
Began with rubbing table legs real fast
To light a need fire in the hold. Avast!
"Man overboard!" A deck hand had declared,
But no one stirred to save the wizard , Dave,
Who'd made them all his slaves, but then got scared
On deck, and didn't hold on as a wave
Knocked him into the water. Ere he drowned,
However, a small pod of dolphins took
Him as a plaything, shoved him all around,
Head butted him, then vi'lently they shook
Him wide awake. A chant, a gesture, and
They swam him to the shore. Once there, his spell
Transformed them. Now a violent, thuggish band
Of grey men with big toothy smiles, like hell
With flipper hands, rampages through the woods
With Dave, relieving trav'lers of their goods!
- For Matt Wallace
Delicious grubs can be so hard to find
When times are lean. All living things need food
And safety. But when hunger starts to grind
The gut, however simple, even chewed
And prickly things appeal. Thus one sere day,
Long, long ago, a desp'rate mother, one
With twins to nurse, whose mate had gone away,
Found nothing good to eat beneath the sun,
So checked an unknown plant, and spied a worm
Tucked twixt its tight and spiny leaves. She pricked
Her finger grabbing at it as it squirmed,
But got it, though her fingernail was nicked.
She'd scraped a bit of leaf up with her meal,
And tasted artichoke! A double deal!
The jewel he'd stolen was of little worth,
Quite flawed and unattractive, but its cost!
A voice had told him he would walk the earth
One final year before at last he lost
A precious gift. The anniversary
Of his tomb raid passed with no incident,
But on the morning next he did not see
Or hear his wife beside him. He just went
About his old routine. He simply thought
His space was being respected. Only when
He saw the tableware move, and did spot
Food disappearing as he dined -- he'd been
Made blind to living beings. What they did
He saw full well, but faces, forms were hid!
I've told no one these facts, but what occurred,
It felt so good I did not seek escape,
E'en as my flesh dissolved. Delight's the word
I'd use describing it. Though now I drape
My shapeless form on couches and must write
By dictating, how gladly I'd return
(If I but could), and no, I would not fight
To save myself. The reek, the rapid burn
Of its miasma have a strange allure
I long for even now, though I know well
Its consequence. The treasure is secure
While guarded by that creature! I'll not tell
Where it is found; the danger is too great.
No more adventurers should share this fate.
My son just called me, though it's 2 a.m.,
To tell me of a message he received
At an address kept secret (All of them
Are such, but this is routed. I believe
Through -- I don't really understand this stuff, it's just
No one should have it). "Really, I know where
Aunt Kris has gone," he told me. "Do you trust
Whoever sent this?" I asked. "I don't care;
A lead's a lead." "Good point. So what's your news?"
"Afghanistan." "You're nuts. Why would she be--"
"That's not a place," my son said. "Look, we use
A code. It means she really isn't free--"
"A code?" "We made it up when I was small,
Just for some fun--" then something killed the call!
She cut her finger while she sliced some beets.
The blood and veggie juice flowed and combined
To form an image: Jesus' face! The tweets
Displaying this near broke the Web. Her mind
Resisted apophenia, but friends
Who'd been there in the kitchen roared as one:
"This is a sign! Our tribulations' end
Is soon! Your blood, an image of the Son..."
No more coherence came from them. Then, soon,
Came pilgrims to her door. Her cutting board
Was now a relic! One night, beneath a moon
Surpassing bright, a vast unruly horde
Of crazed phlebotomists arrived to drain
Her dry so they could stage portentous rain!
The party was in full swing, canapés
In ev'ry hand, for ev'ry lip a drink.
The host looked on with satisfaction; days
Of preparation paid off. "Do you think
That Ross will be here? Carrie, too? I hope!"
He said to his young husband as the dome
Dimmed down to ev'ning mode. "Don't be a dope,
They're over there." He glided 'cross his home
And waited with politeness as his guests
Conversed. "Oh, so you guys are some of THOSE,"
Young Ross was saying. "Oh man, that's the best!
Hey Carrie, these folks think we all arose
On Earth! I bet they think that Mars is flat
As well!" Their host blushed. "Sorry about that..."
"My name is Alice, but this place sure ain't
No Wonderland. I've had it with this crap.
I wish I had my rifle, though." A faint
But growing sound of laughter sounded. "Strap
Me on, then." "What? Who's there?" "Just look below
The table, idiot." "Don't call me that,"
She said through gritted teeth. "I might just go
All postal on you." "Time we had a chat
In that case." "You stay down." "You silly girl,
You think that I'm attacking? Here it is!"
Gas gave it to her as a wicked curl
Deformed her lips as she examined his
Blind offering, and cocked it. "Ready, aim..."
The rifle said "Shut up, I know the game."
'Twas early in September, and they'd met
At Colin Cooper's large house in the Lane
Called Pudding. He was in fine form, as yet
One hour into his sermon when a plain
Young woman, in her boredom, let her gaze
Go wandering to yonder window. "Smoke?"
She whispered, but was shushed. "The End of Days
Commenceth soon," cried Cooper. "Those who joke,
Who mock us, will repent in flame and ash!"
He kept on going, as the brethren hung
On ev'ry word. Outside there came a crash,
But they ignored it. E'en as wood smoke stung
Their eyes, they kept on praying, duty bound.
Weeks later, blackened corpses were so found.
It's time you learned the truth of how things work.
But brace yourself; you're going to find it gross.
You know how you sometimes have "hypnic jerks"?
They're not what you think, man, not even close.
Here, put these on. I know they're kind of dumb,
But what you see through them will blow your mind.
Look at your thigh. Right there, where it feels numb?
Chill out. It's always been there, in some kind
Of symbiosis. There's one on your back,
And in your ear, and halfway up your -- but
That's not the thing. It's laying eggs. Keep track!
The eggs then hatch, way deep inside your gut
And burst out when you're sleeping. No, there ain't
A thing that we can -- oh, another faint.
She hadn't bothered checking for a name
Or destination; she just sought a ship.
She'd tailed a crewman from a poker game
As far as this one's gangplank. Thus her trip
Began. But how it ended, no one knows.
Miss Pollard hasn't e'er been seen again.
We know she stowed away, that this she chose,
From diary pages. We find, now and then,
A clue. A captain home in Trondheim spoke
Her name once in his ravings, drew her face
In charcoal, but won't speak. He'll simply smoke
His life away. And in another place,
In Maine, schoolchildren visit her in dreams
And wake up chanting. None knows what that means.
His love of money was his greatest trait;
A golden statue (Mammon) graced his hall.
He said "God damn it" anytime that fate
Denied him. Sundays he most liked to call
For more donations. As for Mom and Dad,
He let them die in public housing. He
Evaded murder charges on a sad
And stupid technicality, then, when free,
He robbed his lawyer's house and then he slept
With that same lawyer's wife. When she confessed
His campaign to slut-shame the woman kept
Her in the tabloids. His flock were impressed
By none of this, because he'd banned the gays
And saved them from those vile, ungodly ways!
Depression, when it falls, is hard to shake,
But FDR had come forth with his plan.
When opportunity comes, one must take
Firm hold of it with both hands, as our man,
Ralph Goodwin did: he signed up for the Corps
And rode out West with others like him, to
Rebuild and build America. What's more,
The tiny town where he built up a pool
Whereat a hot springs bubbled from the ground
And helped construct a picnic shelter, stone
By heavy stone, in that place, there he found
His Dorothy. He'd never be alone
Again. And ev'ry year, that island park
He visited to kiss her in the dark.
The Mi-Go joke the candidate had made
Delighted fanbois, but throughout the land
Some found it most un-funny. When it played
In loops on Vine, each time, more cultists planned
Revenge. The stars would not be right for weeks,
But other things were possible, and soon
The Crawling Chaos, he who only speaks
Unto the faithful during each new moon,
Had cast his dapper hat into the ring.
Campaign events soon ended in spilt blood,
And hazy memories of unclean things
Who shared their DNA, beneath the mud,
With party members. By election day
Their new-enfranchised offspring voted yea.
A table, unobtrusive, set with sweets
Of ev'ry hue and kind, was set beside
A beat-up van, one scarred by roads and streets
Much rougher than this town's. To it was tied
A sign "Big bake sale; all of local make
From fresh ingredients." "Come here and try
A piece of my world-famous Cowboy Cake--
Or is it Plumber Cake? I'll check. Hey, Cy,"
She said to someone in the van "What did
This feller do again? Ah never mind.
We're in Wyoming; odds are that the kid
Did somethin' like that. Cowboy Cake is fine.
What do you do, young lady?" Her lips curled.
"No, wait, don't tell. I've never tried Cowgirl!"
"Our customers are not that foolish," said
Fegredo Beck, the Virtease CEO,
When news of shoppers' fates began to spread.
"You'll find its not our doing, as you know."
But soon leaked files proved that 'twas his idea
To phase out the fulfillment side of things --
Not outsource it, but "just axe it," as Sofia,
His majordomo, bluntly phrased it. "Brings
It all into perspective, don't it?" cried
The outraged classes. Soon, though, Virtease made
The matter go away with one great lie:
Those customers whose deaths the world had laid
At Virtease' door, themselves had not been real!
"That's just how good our tech is now, we feel."
We all knew VR shopping would be big,
Once all the masses could afford the tech,
Or build their own (hello there, Cardboard rig!).
But one entrepreneur, Fegredo Beck
Saw further than the others in his field.
The pleasure got from shopping was the key;
What really would increase shareholder yield
Would be to isolate this. Soon delivery
Of things to customers was taken out
Of the equation. Goods both bought and sold
Were simply in the cloud. This brought about
Some consequences, though, no one foretold:
Among the goods were such delicious food
That people starved in their apartments. Crude.
The education bureaucrats had struck
Again: The newest ruling did require
That wyvern-milk, delivered by a truck,
Replace the local gryphon product. Ire
And demonstrations met announcements of
The policy, but Monday morning naps
At Wee-zards had the new drinks. "You'll just love
This stuff," Miss Prism said. "Sweet dreams, my chaps!"
The children handed back their cups, lay down,
And soon were sleeping. Then the chaos came:
The side effects of wyvern milk, profound,
Took hold. Each child began to dream the same,
And their untutored powers were set loose!
Miss Prism still is lost, is now a goose!
She'd outspent all her friends on her new frock
And coat, and smart and flatt'ring new cloche hat,
But Miss Lucinda really sought to shock
More than to incite envy. She knew that
Some suffragettes had some odd stunt well-planned
For Easter Sunday, in the great parade,
But it took her some effort, and some bland,
Insipid ev'nings learning those they'd made.
In secret she stole Winky's half-smoked pack
To practice. On Good Friday, she did light
Her first, her only; blowing from out back
A cross breeze caught her flame, and soon her slight
And boyish frame and new duds were afire.
Her Torch of Freedom, no one would admire.
"The higher, then the fewer, do you see?"
A man in tattered coveralls did say
As Alice rushed to warn the party. "Hee!"
A sort of dusty rat said. "Come to play?"
The man, whose name tag said to call him Gas
Said eagerly as he sat on a drum
With biohazard markings. "That's the lass!"
A jackelope chimed in, "Dumm said she'd come.
We're to be nice; she helped him stash the bod!"
"What do you mean?" "Shut up, she doesn't know
That he fed her his brother." "Oh my cod,
I smell him on her breath! She has to go."
"Don't be so rude. She's famous and she's free
On this pathetic plane's reality!"
To sit to Hughain Mast was quite the coup,
So Lubay chose an outfit with more care
Than most would take o'er foodstuffs. "Show 'em through!"
Lu cried on learning Mast was waiting there.
Lu struck a pose and Mast began to paint.
The portraitist's stare was unnerving, yet
The prestige it conveyed! When Lu went faint
'Twas chalked up to excitement. "Did you get
My best side?" "Oh, indeed." That eerie grin!
Weeks passed. Each day Lu felt a bit less well,
While Mast's strange medium grew thick as sin.
Unveiling day, Lu stayed in bed a spell
While all admired Mast's lifelike masterpiece.
Lu's bones, meanwhile, had crumbled 'neath the fleece.
Some perp walk photos showed up on the web,
And then Mariah showed up late to work
With ink-strained fingertips. When nosy Deb
Asked if she could be helpful, just a smirk
Was her reply. What had this woman done?
This sweet, enthusiastic employee,
Who'd always taken bullying (good fun,
They'd always claimed, but sometimes things could be
A little cruel), what mischief had she wrought?
The internet, the TV news, all kept
The secret. At what misdeed was she caught?
The office rumors went wild, 'til she wept
And went home early. Later, she resigned,
Not telling she'd been witness to a crime.
The leak that mattered, by which, understand,
Is meant the leak exposing his mistakes,
At last had happened. Ronald owned no land,
No assets tangible or other. Lakes
Of debt, forged paper, empty safes, all these
Were what he had. The world thought otherwise,
Of course. His friends, to bully and to tease
Had propped him up, averting all their eyes
From signs that pointed to his lies. But now
His pauper-hood had earned him a new name:
They called him Set. But he still had them. Wow!
He should retreat, perhaps, into his shame,
But he had two more years left in his term.
Those voters, they still had a lot to learn.
The airlock wasn't broken; all was well
Except the man who'd passed through it, who'd fooled
Evaluations by the score. We fell
For all his lies - and yet he broke no rule
While breaking space-walk records. It was known
He was a little odd, but no one guessed
When he stayed late again and have a groan
Of happiness, that he had passed his test.
He'd outsmarted the safeguards back on Earth
But kept his secret until now, when he
Undid the locks and clasps and cables. Mirth
Soon froze upon his naked face as, free
Except from physics, he became space junk
Like any other. All your theory's bunk.
Your honor, I object to this whole line
Of questioning. It's in the poorest taste,
It's leading and it's speculative. Fine,
His flying horse did bolt, and in her haste
She spattered counsel's roof, but does that mean
My client killed the plaintiff's beast? Oh, no.
I've witnesses who place him on the green,
Engaged in commerce. Furthermore, I'll show
That there's a better suspect: Hortense Blue,
Whose phobia of gryphons has become
A by-word. I submit it was she who
Left Aerohip's stall open. Do not shun
This testimony: distractions like that ease
All kinds of malefactions, if you please.
She'd gotten so behind in daily chores
That she had harvested a diff'rent reed
Than what was used for bedding. Khamenhors
Did what she could, then hurried off to feed
Her children. That night she and Amunhild
Slept on papyrus, at least until rain --
Most unexpected in this season -- filled
Their dwelling with floodwaters. Her quick brain
Took note of what the fibers from beneath
Their linens had become, first pressed quite flat
Then soaked, then sun-dried! She grabbed up a sheaf
Of fresh papyrus from the Nile's banks "That
Was not an accident. Look what we've found!
Its usefulness outweighs our loss all round!"
The seeds she'd planted simply wouldn't sprout,
And soon she noticed that the water's taste
Was foul straight from the tap. She asked about
And no one's garden seemed to flourish. Waste?
Pollution? Effluent? What was the cause?
No scientist could answer that; no test
Could tell just what had happened. All the laws
Protecting their environment -- the best
In any region -- all were working well.
Yet e'en the bees and butterflies had failed.
At last a chance remark -- "So this is hell" --
Revealed what had occurred. A demon, jailed
In ages ere the Flood, had broken free
And cursed the land and soil -- all it could see.
Don't ask me how I've been. You'll never see
What I have seen, or feel what I have felt.
Just like I'll never know the guilt you free
And untouched souls profess. My hand was dealt.
'Twas I the creature took in all your stead,
'Twas I whose body suffered from its touch,
Whose mind was so polluted. Mine's the bed
Where... No, you cannot trick me. It's too much.
Stop thanking me. I didn't choose to spare
The rest of you. I'd gladly, if the chance
To change things came, throw you at it to bear
What I did. I'm no savior. At a glance,
I'd say... All right, then, fine. Come feel
The skin that I don't have left. It's all real.
Exploring was a trait passed with the genes
In Linus Benson's family. He, too,
Grew restless when in too-familiar scenes,
And so when he was grown, he aimed for blue
And boundless skies he'd conquer with a plane
Of his design. But on his maiden flight
Aboard the craft he'd named Untamed Elaine
(His mother), long before he came in sight
Of far Antarctica, he was pulled down
By forces quite unknown. Soon did he find
That he not alone. The island, crowned
By a volcano's dormant cone, did bind
His wild imagination, for the shape
Of his own mother, stone-carved, made him gape.
