The Temptation is Over

Your demons lie,
two feet in one shoe,
sword-bellied,
stock-still,

lit down
and bug-sprayed,

their children trussed
and fed to snapping fish.

Look there, look there
with her teeming hair,
does she stir,

or that one with
saucers for eyes,

or him face down
in cream?

All gone.

Their ancestors' bones,
exhumed, pestled,
haunt the wind.

© 2000 Trout &
Carolyn Smale