You don’t have a clue, says the power drill to the canoe hanging from the rafters. Is life a contest everything plays by different rules for different prizes? You’re really worthless, aren’t you? barks the cherry tree covered with eponymous fruit to the wagon lying on its side. Unfair! Wasn’t that wagon not two
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Could Have Danced All Night
The wolf appointed to tear me apart
is sure making slow work of it.
This morning just one eye weeping,
a single chip out of my back and
the usual maniacal wooden bird flutes
in the brain. Listen to that feeble howl
like having fangs is something to regret,
like we shouldn’t give thanks for blood
thirst. Even my idiot neighbor backing out
without looking could do a better job,
even that leaning diseased tree or dream
of a palsied hand squeezing the throat but
we’ve been at this for years, lying exposed
on the couch in the fat of the afternoon,
staring down the moon among night blooms.
What good’s a reluctant wolf anyway?
The other wolves just get it drunk
then tie it to a post. Poor pup.
Here’s my hand. Bite.