Willi Miracle

Young Willi Miracle

Silver-vizored, gauntleted

Roaring down the freeway

The wind in his nose and his throat

High-buckled to his neck and ox-leather overcoat

Stars at his elbows

Black lighting his hair

Willi at the truckstop

Drinking beer with Pachelbel

Back losers eacy way

Has taken no lessons from life

Sharp-bladed in his pocket a pearlhandled flick-knife

Knows where it’s leading

Old Pachelbel’s stare

Pach’s got a rooming-house

Winters in Alassio

Willi offers to stay

They’ll work something out overnight

Willi eyes the antiques, the silver in the lamplight

Pillow in his face

He’s strong as a bear

Wily old Pachelbel

Likes them naked, young and dead

Hauls him down the stairway

Throws him in the pit with the rest

There are sperm in his mouth and cigar-burns on his chest

The pearhandled knife

Lies under a chair

Six or eight weeks later

Pack’s a new young visitor

Thinks that it’s his birthday

Tries the ox-leather coat for size

Willi moves in the cement, opens lime-blinded eyes

Sighs from the cellar

Beware, or beware!

[Ivor C Treby]