The Grave Robber*

The wind was shrill, the clouds sedated,

My spirit heavy as I waited

To visit an old mate below the pomegranate tree.

Ready I had come to grieve

And fertilize the roots and leaves

To feed the fruit that grew there and then gave itself for free.

To hungry folk like me.

But on that cold portentous night

There waited there a muddy fright-

A ghoul in moonlight down below the pomegranate tree.

He licked the soil and scraped the roots

Sifted leaves inside a boot,

The match for which was on the ground crushed beneath his knee

The ghoul, I saw, saw me.

Nervous, I walked to the clearing

Only then as I was nearing

The ghoul cast up a yellow eye below the pomegranate tree

And began to keen and, tearing

simple rags he was wearing,

Gurgled "I can't find it, help me, you must help me, see!

Then I'll let you free!"

I asked him what it was he's seeking,

He looked as if he'd caught me sneaking

And whispered his answer to the flowers on the pomegranate tree.

"A bird I plucked but didn't kill-

His remains are somewhere still

He fell off of a window sill and I suspect his meat may be

Here and I plan to see."

I asked him what it was to him

To have a body past the brim

Under the flowery limb of this old pomegranate tree

He answered "I was known to poke,

Prod, burn, persecute and joke

The little bird that sang so sweetly, and to cage his she.

What will they say of me?

"If I don't find and then preserve

The sweet and harmless little bird

Men and ghouls may curse my name around the pomegranate tree.

If I can't even claim his ashes,

Even demons fear the lashes

When strangers call my evil rashness and my darkness frivolee."

I admit, I do agree.

-Willie Eighter, Santa Clarita

TRIFLE, n. Motive enough.

*Note: I confess I'm doing yet another post about my analog world. Bear with me and I'll work through it.