poetry · shadows

The Man Who Cried Wolf

no such thing

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Crawled from the womb

To be hungry

Wails from the crib

Fell on deaf ears

Untended filth and rash

An unloved infant

Dressed up and

Brought out for family gatherings.

 

A boy, a smart boy,

Learned the streets

Learned the shops who gave treats

Found metal and gears

And fashioned machines

A boy who tossed papers

For pennies.

A boy who wanted to be heard.

 

Girls want clean.  Girls want rich.

Girls want things.  He had none.

He did have his smarts.

He did have his voice.

The boy learned to sing.

Words that made them feel pretty

Words that made them feel wanted

Words that made them believe.

 

The man worked at a fevered pace.

He drove sports cars.

He drank gallons and snorted grams

He spent as much as he earned.

The women flocked to him.

They laughed in his fast cars,

Soared with liquids and powders,

And fucked him like there was no tomorrow.

 

He polished his voice

As the work wore his body down

And the money became a trickle

Sinuous and sparkling, in just

The right light, you could see

sounds flow, like dark matter, into

His prey’s psyche,

Glittery atomic seeds of belief.

 

Believers in a kind maker

Who brought joy

A Laughing, caring, companion

Dreams, adventures, secrets —

As the man fashioned a plan

To creep in quietly as first snow dust

To irradiate the seeds,

To help monsters grow.

 

Then, a hair is astray,

The seasoning’s wrong.

You won’t get that job.

I don’t like that song.

I never said that.

You’re looking old.

Goodbye ‘til you’re nice.

Can I borrow some gold?

 

Believers confused

Between waking and sleeping

Is, “I love you” real?

Or is it his creeping?

He makes them believe sunshine is dark

His cruel ministrations a walk in the park

He knows what the truth is but you never will

As he switches it up with consummate skill.

 

The boy who cried wolf was ignored

As he lied to the folks of the town.

The man who cried wolf reaped madness

In believers and himself for a crown.

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