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