just thought I'd outwit the sheriff

by squeezing through thishere hole in the fence

but damned if the hen didn't give me away

with its clucking--

should've broken the fucker's neck--

sheriff or chicken I cain't decide--

sheet!--back to the shed--the bare trees--

the carpet of leaves in my front yard--

the low dull sun--and fifty-seven children in the crawlspace--

mad that there's no mo' clean well water--

damn socialist wants me t' drink the same

water everybody else does--

hmmm--how'd my ol' hound taste after a few hours

on the spit?

Content (c) 2008-2009 Philip Milito.