Balkey swayed with the Sammy and her goon, Box;
the street passers swayed in the heat. Box brought
them another round of wheat wine. Together they
drank the saffron poison and watched what lived.
Dogs and cats slunk from shade to shadow; any
piece they could find, too tired to fight or hiss, even.
Mutts barely look up for scraps of wish meat, so
drained from the scorch
they are. The day wore on and wore on and wore. Box
fetched more wheat wine, but Balkey had had his fill.
He went in and loosed the last of his commandeered
scratch on a desert trout and horse flank sand wish.
Sound and ground, locals called the combo. Balkey ate.