(poem) two men

[mister c]

two men walked and then emerged
from the shadow of a big oak tree
screech of bird and howl of wolf
but nothing spoke louder
than the beast with cloven hoof

"trust me, my son"
said the tallest one
as they stepped through
the light of morn
"not fucking likely"
spoke the other one
"i've told you once
i've told you thrice
- the lies you tell
are old and worn."

two men walked and the violence stirred
from the heart of the valley
and the wings of the hill
it looked like the town wouldn't be the same
it looked like all doors would spill
their light into the dark
where it would do no good
cuz sometimes the shadows eat it up
like crows crawling round fresh roadkill.

the patriot was strangely silent
as the two men approached the town
he slid back into his house
and locked the windows shut
and knelt down in the corner
quiet as a mouse
and the tallest one approached
with his eyes like coal chips
and the other one was restless
you could tell by his tight lips
and they stepped up the door
with their boots barely making a sound
and they rapped on the wood
til that fucking thing fell down.

it's said no one heard him screaming
it's said they never heard him yell
but the whole town is lying
as sure as there's a hell.

two men walked from the bleeding little house
their daggers did the talking
and from the pieces that they left
it seemed they'd had a lot to tell
and as they kept on walking
through the arteries of the town
no one watched them go
except a stray old alley cat
whose eyes were wide like emeralds
and he darted this way and that
as if to avoid being touched
by the shadows of the men.

two men talked together
said the tallest one, "i told you."
and the other just shrugged
and said, "well once in your lifetime
doesn't make a habit."