Blinds raised inches from the sill reveal
legs ambling past the cuckoo’s nest,
solo jeans and shorts a-stroll
preamble to a game of chance –
absolute risk the ultimate gamble
in unpeopled silence.
The king regnant in cap and bells
tricks the crowd,
gatherers of sticks and stones.
Unburied bones
shift in twilight, drift,
to fall away.
Trust is an enormous no.
In this new age unpent
fear spreads like water,
village idiots ignore common sense,
hope for miracles, for a past returning
predictable familiarities of the gone-by.
Taunting the hungry hunter,
they fall, wait for the fever
the cough
the breathless wonder of death
the slow turn to dust
that brings a final good night.