In On the Outs

[Owlster Bierce]

Sundown moths,
intent as bees,
pounce, pounce upon
your lilac trees.
I miss

the horse
in your pasture.
Fish
in your pond.
Cow
in your freezer.

Sun-up stroll down Main Street,
I scan curb and sidewalk
for wayward nickel, dime, or quarter;
settle for the pick-a-penny bend,

as sundown men,
buck and status-rich,
bang, bang your lilac bush.
Peck cheek. Suckle neck.