a wicked thing rests
on the window
sill of Old man pyle's
place, the rickety shack.
we see it when we
go to the park
and we see it
when we go home
and it just sits there,
a malevolent thing.

june in the county
of torchester brings
sun and tourists and money,
and a chance to charge
gullibles to gaze upon
the wicked thing
that rests on Old Man pyle's
dusty dirty window sill.
they think it's nothing
and hand over the money
for reasons i have yet
to discover.

they stare at it for hours.
the never blink.
thy will be done
in the constraints
of the mimicry.

the spell lifts eventually,
leaving nazca lines
on foreheads
and no memories
concern themselves with what has been.

the wicked thing sh

they prop Old Man Pyle
back up in his chair
and we laugh
in the face of death
and of fear
and terror
and gullibles gullibling
their money away.