Full moon slips through wispy clouds,
like the slick, greasy streams of dun-colored smoke
snaking skyward from sanguine stacks
of the stockyards, puffing poisons into my lungs
as the freight-weight bangs out its rhythm
yellow, baleful eye lancing the frightened night.
With the screech of broken nails on shale
and the hiss of ten thousand and six vipers
steel arrow staggers to a standstill
sending greetings to the concentration camps
of the Midwest: Auschwitz, Berkow, Stutthoff, Kansas City;
unloading cargo branded by Man's hand,
lowing moos sifting through the greasy dust.
My bovine mistress winks suggestively at me,
udders swaying in the lazy, tepid breeze
stirring dervishes and zephyrs into riotous frenzy.
And the watch-fires slowly ebb and die
as full moon slips through wispy clouds.
Le Jongleur Aspirante