The Hansel & Gretel Forest 9

9
The tap of his finger
against the squawking of the birds
produces a beat
rat a tat
rat a tat tat tat
pim-pom,
pim rat a pom tat tat
an S.O.S. with substance
Gretel only notices because the roof has flown off
something about refusing to
relinquish its chocolate core
the insides of the house are swirling
the triangle shaped room
comes out whole
air born, perched atop the bramble bush
amidst glass jars, red cloaks, a liquor cabinet

the beldame is last—
speared through vertically with a poker
landed in the fire pit
a click and the spit is turning
gas engulfed
licking her legs lovingly

Hansel is all punctured through
a punched out boy
Gretel knows it won’t last
the beldame will pour through
seal him up when she takes a last breath