(for cheryl pallant)
you’re too much waist in time.
you’ve been rending a room in the wrong house
this whole time and
your bill was late. you’re bent on audit.
you’re auditory, gotten notice after
the fact of certain.
you are seven of the thinnest dimes I’ve ever seen
and even at one stroke.
you are a Mabe of all seasons, a dog of one.
you’re all bonkity-bonk and diddity-doo the kind that don’t
you’re that bigger-than-the-both-of-us brand of file
in the cake
you back against the wall and forever back
after these messages
you will not sway me with your swamp thing smile
and sorcery-less sword,
your whispers swindle.
you’re the wrong swine for this truffle
and it’s been too long.
too much trouble.
you dine on the wills of men
I will not abide, and you will not attend.
you will not attend the Death Star Disco.