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George Lewis Avery

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last night for supper
i et scrambled sheeps brains and liver
after knocking a couple yeggs tergither
and discombobulating thar shells
makin the yallers run down into me skillet
to join the menagerie
that was to become my meal

the fire was hot an
as i was stirring the hash wit a cold fingerbone i
had pried from the post mortem pencil of a poet
i found myself wit some free moments to ponder
just how scarce the game was getting in these parts
time was when a TROLL could knock a poet over
each time he sent a rock tumbling down the hill
but them times is past

nowadays
a TROLL has got to travel to win his supper
and its a tarsome business
its a lot of skin offen his big feetses
and the poets nowadays ain t a docile beast
like them what weaned him offen his portly mommas breasts
poets nowadays fight back [toof and nail]
and that makes the meat stringy

imagine my good fortune
at finding you here
loitering alone on this knoll
my dear fat scribe
'O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
methinks i'll hang around awhile
[and to think]
i was just on my way to the funerary grounds
to dig up emily dickinson and refill my jerky skin
to tide me over till fatter hunting elsewhere

~i am TROLL †

.oeg ©