--- C A R M E N   B U T C H E R

This explosive, long in the family, 
incessant, wooden, tall, loud leaving
without a thought to consequence while 
your grand piano is black as night will be we are 
collapsed puppets on chairs and a sofa
bookended by this terrible pair.
Uniforms and squad cars and 
car trunks, morning broke 
underbrush, bent low 
searching wild 
shrubs for an earlier
blue and white 
two syllables. But only heat hissing
a long snake skittering
neglectfully across brown leaves 
along that unforgiving ground 
which is not at last
unpleasant.
The leaves were very dead.
My lips 
tasting
salt and canines.
Feeling the hours till darkness
was something like the sanity
we had lost. 
Sunburned red crested the hill,
with a Mason's jar of water in a plastic bag,
dirt, empty boxes, much spill
forgetfulness however 
refused.
The old friend with silver hair and barley soup
for their supper almost fainted
before
the ghost called
hope.