PRAIRIE STORY

Y'all know the bitch who ran from Güber's Farm,
the one lives in the forest
off highway fifteen. They say
she's got distemper, sure barks
at the wasps. One night I disturbed her
knocking over trash; she turned,
black,
          yes,
                 and foaming at the jaw.
I almost puked with fright, ran
to get my gun but she was gone.

Knew a man hit her with his Cadillac,
goes white as he tells it.
She threw no shadows on the moonlit road,
had been nosing the roadkill
when the headlights surprise her.

He'll show you dents — nine
thumps in the right side fender —
bitch must have fought back.
Güber told me she's as strong as tractors.

Folks are terrified:
Three young ones maimed in Lower Salem,
babies taken. High price
for the steaming corpse.

Dog Warden's been missing weeks. 
Can't catch a bitch like that. she can outrun jeeps.
I heard she's got a fetish for chicken wire and burger joints.

BITCHES

for MJ


Bitches don't know what Crystal Carrington brings,

throwing fierce, diamond sharp nails and rings

packed with sapphire and ruby. Don't know Alexis

swings slaps like Liz Taylor drops affadavits

in cuckolded laps, demanding divorce on the grounds

of fabulousness. Bette Davis wore smiles and gowns
as she kicked clumps of hair from Joan Crawford's
crown. Bitch is a trick of the voice. It is heard
in the glittering lilts of drag queens and fags
that spit feather boas and pearls. We aint WAGs.
We aint fascinated by Gucci bags or footballers' packs.
We love Joan Rivers dissing Ellen Degeneres' slacks.
We were whelped in the forties from Judy's cunt
and, since, Liza and I have been feasting on runts.