out back by the old saw mill
were the metal bangers go deaf
in time
sirens wail jittery warbles
as a dog's howl accompanies the din
inharmonious
all lubricated by large gulps
of heavy red rust
a simple base
thick with vine
and creepy crawlers
yet to be catalogued
night things spit and hiss bile
gleefully
while leaves strip trees
make threatening gestures
to amuse one another
and frighten the day critters
huddled in a hollow
hiding harrowed till dawn
lightning and rain play strobe art
flickering branches
and reflecting of eyes
to some the primal drones beckon
the “bizz” just mutter and cringe
running to city center
because this is the lunatic fringe
sending the Piggy a quiver
back to his moonlit bog
remember y'all, we love bacon
and he is a fat little hog
