Généalogie

Peep. From the landed gentry. Piêppes. Finely recorded
in cramped registry gothic down the hunterly scepter
of Charlemagne through the hair-raising of the Merovingians,
a wolf behind every tree. And, the Bauhoux line, old family
of anti-royal bleaters. Anglicized at the time of William's landing.
Bo.
                                                  Legend tells of a young shepherdess
during the time of charmed forests
                                                       and loups-garous.
(Tidy Mother Goose vacuumed up fairy dust.)
Our family has a venerated affinity with her.
                                    We even have her relics.
          Her gift
          (cadeau
          we know):
          Dissociation in times of woe.

Say your sheep wander off while you and a hirsute stranger
are distracting yourselves: your hot remorse is just dessert.
He and his pack used you. Tart. Oh, no, they're not lost,
tell yourself. They're wagging their little tails home right now!
Believe that into new wiring. And you, you say,
Such stupid creatures. I don't believe a word. Don't.
They were hit hard. Some made it back to the grange, no thanks
to you, who became a local celebrity. "I fought and fought and
with my staff!" round tears deflecting off those lambskin cheeks.
True, she looked a fright. Mud. Blood. Fur.

-- P.Q. Perron