Two Poesies last night lost
reports our own Town Crier
this morning for those
who now can not read.
His cocked hat skewed
he rings his bell and yells
“Oh, Yes! Oh, Yes!
words ‘n lines all tossed.”
There is a browling
of those waiting
at the curbs for jobs
“What is the night
which goes unwatched?”
asks a hawk talk host
“Our Town Crier
blatted had them
but let them go
in the night down
said dark back alley
while he canned.”
“Of no consequence
whatsoever,” said
Sister Aloysius
watering the uprising.
“There is much
in the night goes
unseen and never
does it get told.
These stories grow old
but come back to haunt
us in ways we do not
know or show.”
The Coming of the Toads 