by Abraham Smith

1800’s  north wisconsin   leave it to me
to work ollie fink into the leaven   he was
an ass   had eyes like blood-fat
wood ticks wrestled from the worst dog
old snuff smeared for a beard   and a stench like trash

very famous for killing wolves

killed them clean from two counties   both rusk and taylor
a lot of feed sack tied off puppy howling   that’s saying something
he poisoned them   he kept the powder at home   he was a

bachelor so there was nothing stopping him

he shook bear flesh full of poison and he laid in the bushes
during the interminable coughing and he
dragged them warm
back home at dark
with the northern lights never crass on high
and there it was he tied
eight ten beautiful wolves in the glory of middle life
by their necks by the light of the moon
up to wire

little pistol shit of a cuss of a man
leaning on his shit shack
next to ten beautiful songwriters
all by the throats

promise you if I had been the moon
snapping milk bleach pictures   I would’ve
I wood haft said oll old pal I’d like to take a second
one of you with my rifle and lowering
my rifle into one crater or other and cocking it touched
the trigger to gravity bang   made his bangs gravy
I would have leveled him bang fuck the stories
of old world wolves stealing babies that’s bull and

ollie was too   the old creek low and testy
the new dawn cool   sky worn and wormy
awfully stinky lumbermen   fat wrists swinging
norwegian ditties winging   fat wrist lard asses leveling the

white pines out of there

he clouded hearing them sawyers singing
not soothing for they grated on the ache he already had he felt
pain this is ollie follow me here   ollie in piebald britches
piebald with bear greases   suspenders built of wolf tongues
stripped stamped knocked the fool howl out of them   getting
harder to keep his oily self up he slept in suspenders   witch wart
wolf plums   he tried to rest strapped into calcified moon rungs

his tooth hurt good   so reached
for pain kill powder   took instead


he took the wolf poison into his hands   a pair of
rough and ready hands in the wolf urine light of
halfdawn with norwegian lard asses already singing

his two bulky never pray snakehead hands that shined a little
like something fresh varnished or yanked from water or pried from
birthing matter

ollie drank the shit down with a draw of rusty creek water in the half life of
dawn with lumberjacks singing now plaintive now joyful birds writing one
sun like a drunk on a stump with nothing but unkindness left to churn

old oll performed a little work   I think he pulled a weed out from

the ground   he   ollie fink   solo lobo killer    took it in his head to lay down

tried to   then   fell by

his plank board bed they found him cold and down

old tough ass fink

some there were who claimed it was his buttons they were
always poison spiders   somewhere a lone baby
wolf applauds gangbusters performs a lewd jig in the dust ollie
used to spit
only things asked us

that we don’t mind the descent   and lengthen the harness some

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