Table Rock Poem by Stan Petrovich

Now, listen, pipsqeaks,
I'm One of a Race of Giants- -
I sport a black,40-ft. beard,
And so now you know my name.

I could take your eldest son
And crunch him between thumb & forefinger;
Certain death;
But I only punish in retribution.

Otherwise I leave you be,
To war, to make weapons of war,
To divide and conquer:
I interfere merely for vengeance & annoyance.

You little kippers often disrupt my sleep;
Television too damn loud, reckless gasoline noise pollution,
So I like to strike without warning:
I hurry believing that revenge is a dish served piping hot.

There is this mountain in the desert.
It is a mesa, flat as an enormous flapjack,
On which I dine with basaltic utensils; I eat & drink heartily.
I eat children & drink the convictions of your beliefs.