Five Dolls for an August Moon
It's never the deer revealed
as the murderer at the end
of the film, And yet, they're always
there, in the background, antlers
sharpened, the look in their eyes
disdainful, murderous. It's obvious
but they somehow get away with it
every time, pin the body count
on some hapless degenerate
who would rather lie in the alley,
fingers clenched around a bottle.
The woods call, conceal. The murderers
recede until the next director
calls "Action!" and it begins again.
What violence cabbage hath wrought,
pierced by blade, perfect crinkled
leaves echo rent flesh. You consider
what would cover the kiss of an entire
flock. Radishes, radishes.
No vegetable you have encountered
can mimic the human scream. You eye
zucchini, parsnips, the tops
of beetroot. Speak in languages
you have never understood.
The Equestrian Vortex calls,
and you answer.