The least of these

beasts, please,

twisting under trees, aiming

for your Achillies

daughter of Eve

 

danger in the dirt

just enough until it hurts

stock still, stone cold

statue coming at you

 

diamond-shaped head

she strikes until it’s dead

the knowledge

that the groveling

empty promises

 

silver-tongued

backhanded balustrades

propping up their foundations

sidewinding

side-of-the-mouth

 

fork-tongued devil