PISTOL ON A LEASH

by Mark Hennessy

The bees will not come into the shade of the barn
where decisions are being made in the pit
that force blood and make money change

hands, dimpled with the scars dogs leave.
To loose a jaw that hangs at home,
from a tire that hangs from a tree in the back.

Strange fruit - this brindle pendulum,
that falls only to rise again.

What was it you wanted?

This love sleeping like flint and stone
in the tender of the teeth
sparks into a bright and raging fire
that waits to dance in your throat for love.