This is a rather unkind or unpleasant poem I wrote about two rather unpleasant people, which I suppose is allowed.
Weasel and the Ponce were having a confab
under the chinaberry tree,
in the shade of the dusty old tree –
pious Weasel, indefatigable Ponce.
Abroad in the land were pickings to be had,
fat aplenty for tooth and hand. Will and cunning
of a creature in the wild, of a vigorous man,
charity nurture, in quietude, in quietude within.
a world entire, from the merest trace of wind –
gold in a river’s sand. And there they sniffed,
in the shadows thrown by the dusty old tree.
they made ready for their necessary enterprise,
drinking in each other’s aspect: they found
did Weasel and his friend, in the other’s smile and guise,
as a darling young girl by her reflection might –
in the shade of the chinaberry tree.
almost gilded in the hours afternoon turns to evening
how would they have noticed the rustle in the thicket,
'A Fable' from Red Sauce, Whiskey, and Snow (Noonday Press, 1995), copyright ? 1995 by August Kleinzahler, used by permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux, LLC. www.fsgbooks.com