Russ

The most innocent of things
Gave him ideas—
The Good Will painting, gifted by his grandfather,
Of the succulent lady
Slurping up mussels
Sitting upon her bustle
At the sea food bar—
Russell

Referencing him, one townsperson would say
You don’t walk your cat like a dog
And another,
But you can’t put up a privacy hedge—thieves love that!
While one of the church girls maintained
He only needed to fix his teeth. Then one Saturday
The preacher’s wife offered she’d heard
His blue Buick had been parked beside Adult Books
Out on the highway . . .
He caused quite a fuss—
Russ

Police couldn’t find anything on him
But everyone knew
In the fustiness of brusque—
Russ

Not queer enough for politically correct
Nor expressly pedophile to warrant an arrest—
Just the Town Pervert no one could trust—
Russ

The villagers came to believe
That when a sly autumn turns to pumpkin orange
A full moon’s blush
And leaves rust—
Russ

In the deepening dusk
A lone man heads for trouble—
Russ