Butcher block of chopped pork and cut bell peppers
Ringing for a sizzle slopped on a cook top and finished in the oven
As the heat swelters the metal rattling sauce pan teeters on
The fringe as the covered lid undulates up and down, up and down
A home with so many sterile lions in wait, accoutrements in drawers
Piping in secret and one day four knives lie in silence expecting
Sliced swine are held and taken half in her hands
One for left, one for right centimeters from his throat
Like a blanket of blades to secure her position
And yet he had no intention of moving
Time ticks and he sits four legs of a chair with no tilt
And a microphone with his child and his wallet held to his Adam’s apple
Patient as staring a lioness down with out sound hoping a sniper exists
Out in the grasslands popping up like a magistrate meerkat
With a judicial decree of desist
Autumn comes, his legs slumping, but steady. The blade of his daughter
Rattles to the ground as she hugs his pant leg in tears
In a minute measure of release he pauses to spasm the ease of breathing normally
His neck tinges crimson as the other rapier sets just as steady in her left
Reminded of the distance to freedom as his bank account remains bifurcated
His house from hardy plank into concrete as the prison door clangs
The oven timer is beeping incessantly, the meat dried into leather
He waits for her to lower her guard so he can pop up and turn the tables
Of fear into angered revenge carried out in this unspoken clutter
By marching out in an in-prompt-to escape for clean utensils
Pondering the needs for either a taxidermist or a real estate agent.
Yet he stands measuring his breaths
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