Acobalt night in blue relief
and the hunt begins.
The green grass black
and the talking baby frightens me.
Bug-eyed horrors hover in
our shadows, lingering, carnivorous.
Wailing now to let him stay,
he stumbles after, the talking baby.
Drop under the yickety-yackety
picket fence. Atreacherous fork
in the road. I know well the dangers.
Where I go the baby follows. I urge him
back to the black green grass, behind
the yickety-yackety picket fence.
You’ll be safer there, I promise.
He climbs back out with pleas
to follow. We neither saw the pit
that he fell in, in velvet silence.
Asmall hand held the edge but
slipped away beneath my grip.
Acobalt night in blue relief
and the hunt begins.