Richard Williams

Quentin Tarantino’s Mary

She couldn’t believe what she heard.

The one still as a daisy

In the backyard of some hovel

Decanting water for one skinny goat.

She turned her head, stunned

In amazement. She even dropped her

Pail with a thud. A whirring

Of plumage accompanied the voice.

On a platter of onions and black olives.

Boiled clean of those feathers,

Whatever it had been,

Went well with the goat cheese.

Wrong Side of the Bed

Under a bough, among laurels, the Muse

Lay sleeping. Some fool,

Supposing she was obligated to speak to him,

Roused her abruptly.

Phoenix-winged she awakened –

Half on fire she flew into his face.

It was frightful in the forest. A man

Made blind – stumbling, crawling,

Wailing – a cauterized cinder for a tongue.