spot, draped in petticoat,
lured in cage; Pluto's booty
snatched by grey men
with whips & pocketwatches,
Cerbère hears the ticking
of their wan hearts wanting
more, but paying the wrong
piper--losers, keepers,
bookmakers & moneylenders
all resplendent on tanning
benches, scorched like
chilies for the three
hungry tongues tamping
bit; horrendously & endlessly
patient & anxious to stand
before a jury of his
(or their) peers, hands
clasped behind back in seeming
penitence. Still he'll slobber
later as he laps his honey,
a lapse in judgement
hung from his neck like an engraved
Marmaduke medallion: "IF LOST,
PLEASE RETURN TO
SOLITARY CONFINEMENT." You might
drag him back, but he's never of one
mind when three heads
collide, & who's ever really
alone when they can
fight themselves for marrow
in the bone?
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