One Night by the Fire (poem)

I might be more intrigued by Simon than the speaker.

camp fire

Image courtesy of Flickr and the Creative Commons license

One Night by the Fire

“Mister, you can have my sister,” said the man
who was more of a marsupial, if you can dig it,
as he warmed his hands over the shoddy fire
he built out of dreamy chips and woody excuses.

“I don’t want her!” said I, and it was forsooth.
His sister was a hanging offense and gap-
toothed and hadn’t had a polish in probably
a gazillion or more years, give or take a pinch.

“Simon, we don’t have a winner this time,” he said.
For his part, Simon smiled a sandy smile and ate
dust from the bottom of the world where such things
gathered, another fine mess he’d gotten himself into.

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