Bob Wilkee
excelled at that close up
table kinda magic —
that pick a card sorta thing —
great at parties,
when the chatter
was slack
and the rubes
were a bit off-plumb
and didn’t notice he ain’t
practiced much.

Now Roy Dennison,
on the other hand,
would pull a maggot
from your nose
if he got ya’ to lie —
a fait accompli kinda thing.
He always said doves were too big,
too flighty, rabbits nibble his pockets,
and Roy, well, just too damn
lazy to feed ’em right.

Emma McFadden,
oh — now
the apparatus —
that steampunk clankin’ thing
with exposed gears,
whirlin’ barber poles,
horns that puked blue smoke
and methane, chain,
sawblades and springs,
flywheels and pulleys —
all things hungry
to rip a body apart
and leave the choke crowd
yackin’ for more, howlin’
always howlin’.

Man, oh man.
What a show Emma was.

What a way to tear a house down.

Image: Isis França on Unsplash

First appeared here Sept. 19, 2019

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