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The Constables Crisis
The fever is on now
And the constable is stuck
To watch it grow.
He watches the bed sheets
Cripple each day
And at night he can hear
The pennies weeping
As they find no eyelids to cover.
What causes this abomination
To keep growing inside of her
When the Devil himself spat it out?
To hot to swallow,
To cool to bite.
He set his soul beside the mantel piece
And sent his fingers to work,
Slid his tongue between two bitter bribes,
And sentenced himself to death.
Copyright ©
Samantha Mcdougal
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