Fellowship of the Glistening Cow

 

More than annoyed,

politely furious, and suffering

from PTSD,

I was elegantly unhinged.

 

I slipped on my Levi’s,

buttoned my white silk shirt

and strode out of cuckooville.

 

Sometimes I wish I’d lost it,

let them have it,

emptied the six-shooter.

 

But, I’m glad I didn’t.

Such types don’t need my help,

they go down on their own.

Plus, I thought, these are good boots,

who needs the mess?

 

I donned my Stetson,

left my name by the door in pencil,

grinding in the tip.

 

See it there?

It doesn’t say

puppet, robot, hostage.

 

Erase it

if you want to.

You’ll have to dig out the lead,

 

listening to your library of so-wrongs

singing its own music

on that player piano,

 

sounding like

a polar bear clawing

thin ice.

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

 

For the List at the Word Garden

Hyde(e)

 

Hi, she said.  I’m the nice sociopath.

 

I appreciate you inviting me in.

 

You won’t notice until later,

but I have taken a few mementos

of our visit,

 

which I will stroke later, alone,

in the dark of my apartment, eyes gleaming.

 

Thanks for coming to my BBQ.

That look you’re receiving

from other guests

isn’t your imagination.

 

I’ve told them all about you.

 

And then, when you said

you needed some space,

I cried and told everyone

how mean you are, too.

 

They believed me

at first.  Since I seem so nice

and know how to make them laugh.

 

They’ll figure it out.

Like you did.  When I cut them down

and then hide behind

all the things that make them feel sorry for me.

 

Sniffle.  Poor me.  I’m just so misunderstood.

Wait.  Here’s my next victim.

 

Hi, she said, I’m the nice sociopath.

 

If only she would have.

 

 

© 2023 Jennifer Wagner