Spunk
Fraidnothin’ Spunk carried a
swagger hip with fingers of steel.
Liptremblin’ Joe’s (whose body now lays
seemingly crumpled unser candle-flies)
wife is that giant’s circling lovingly.
That goddamn coward
just snuck up with clenchedrazor
only to buckle after one shot.
To this day nothin’ grew
from God’s green footstool
where they planted lonesomehim.
Now Spunk’s free to roam the floorboards
and dark alleys to play guitar.
free to marry that small pretty.
free to feed the singing circle-saw.
But that black Bobcat
got that leisurely man Spunk
the second time round.
It was his turn
to feed that snarling circle
saw, and what a sight he was,
covered in magnolia blossoms
and leering triumph,
sitting atop sixteen-inch cooling
boards under a dinghy shroud.
The only question left is,
who’s next?
Author's Note: I'm reading Spunk in my lit class and decieded to try and use the vocab that Zora Neil Hurston uses to depict the story in poetic form. Tell me how it went!
Posted Oct 2, 2018, 9:31 PM UTC