weasels are underground, waiting.
they want skin.
weasels are little whiny men in grey business suits underground, waiting.
they want skin; they want hair.
weasels are petty, arrogant, they preen in the mirror, adjust the grey hair in its perfect coiffure.
underground, waiting.
they want skin; they want hair; they want blood.
weasels are hassling the wait staff, to complain this drink has not enough ice or too much ice, or this steak is too rare or this steak is not well done.
underground, waiting.
they want skin; they want hair; they want blood; they want muscle.
weasels are sniffing at blonde ice queens in bars, underground, waiting.
they want skin; they want hair; they want blood; they want muscle; they want bone.
weasels are in the court room, on Wall Street, on the televised news, at the head of the operating table, behind the pulpit, underground, waiting.
they want skin; they want hair; they want blood; they want muscle; they want bone; they want marrow.
weasels are plotting world domination, underground, waiting.
they want skin; they want hair, they want blood; they want muscle; they want bone; they want marrow; they want gristle.
Weasels are being appointed to the highest government offices in the land;
They want skin; they want hair; they want blood; they want muscle; they want bone; they want marrow; they want gristle; they want ALL
weasels are underground, waiting.

 

 

Chani Zwibel is a graduate of Agnes Scott College, a poet, wife and dog-mom who was born and raised in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but now dwells in Marietta, Georgia. She enjoys writing poetry after nature walks and daydreaming.