In a rough log shelter, I meet my Myst-
erious Grandma and her yuppies; lie
longside. Stare at the shifting sky.
Comical pillow clouds scud by. Dust
strings hang from roof to spider-writhe
in faintest zephyr. But they're not just
web. A mammal clumb down to weave
Letters in the thread! A message pri-
vate if not primate. One word for me.
Can a chipmunk spy?
I am. A spy.
Rodent weaver's gone. But
Hark! The yuppies plot.
I can't hear brightly through
the wall so I poke my ear unto
the shriveled nipple of Mist-Ear-Yes
Grandmammá, which lets her use
Matriarchal Powers for my sake.
Leathernub up my canal feeds me
yup-gossip. Ugh! A dirty plan:
dumping sludge for cash!
Foul play for cash.
I join their table round. Why do they
Treat me as in? Ayn-Rand-serene,
they got no shame: "If we can get away
with all, why not?" I fear they'll kill
me to guard their oily scheme, so I
fake impassioned speech: "Count ME
out of this one! How'll you feel, years on?
Wrecked your grandkids' land!
Your own kids' land!"
I walk out. Mock-primadonna, don't flee
or sneak--all eyes on me! So no one can
kill discreet. I mean all I say, but 'tis a ploy
to walk out of here alive--hysteria's my
modus op. To my amaze, a simian guy
says "He's right. I got a kid," and exits too.
Up stand three. Out walk more. The gang
frays to gone! Prodded by a lie.
Landslide from a lie.
Later, in a hazy bar, I met
The brimhat masters of the plot.
Over four lime gins they say:
"Thanks for savin' us. We were
gunnin' ahead. So fuckin' sure
we wouldn't get caught!"
"If we dumped that shit, we'd'a got
jailed or shot." "Trapped in a mass
delusion!" Glad to help, I guess.
Yet I confess--I objected not
for them. To save my ass.
