Monster

Behind our house, the metal maws crunch

And maul slender maids, standing tall

And silent in their mottled, winter greys.

Resigned to their fates, they do not try to escape.

They are too wise for that. They have seen

The monster's mark on kith, kin and mate;

They know its power. They know it is their hour.

There is nothing I can do. I stand here,

Teeth, fists, and stomach clenched, while the men

Stand round blinking, murky thoughts

Tumbling slowly through a vacancy.

There is nothing I can do against those metal

Teeth, those men standing stiff as a picket

Fence, arms crossed in benediction.

Bodies fall, green veils crash

To the ground. The earth's arms reach up to catch them.

Dismembered limbs, stuffed in a trunk to be burnt

At leisure; they were wise once. I shall remember

Their whispered conversation, the cool shelter

Of their scented garments, the song concealed

And loosed on the sun's arc. Tomorrow, these teeth

Meet my own metal claws, small,

But dangerous, driving the monster back. And I

Shall loose my impotent war cry on the indifferent woods

And remember the shades of maidens past. We all

Die eventually. Age makes death a handmaiden;

Someone to be welcomed, eventually.