Golem Takes a Hike on Black Friday

Twisted Bay laurel trunks lean down the hillside
branches covered in moss scarves
quail make a quick exit like a troupe
of dancers racing across stage lights to fame,
the only flowers are spindles of yellow ivy
on a path wet from rain, skeletons of thistles
hang in a eucalyptus-scented afternoon,
white helmets of mushrooms, leftovers

for snails and slugs, even pigs
root around with dripping snouts
topple stems and scatter the newly devout,
creamed and stuffed, hunters pick baskets
selecting only the best
and throw upon the earth the poor rest.

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