A TALE OF ZACHARY

BY

MATTHEW SOAMES


Finished lies the infernal report,

And, with a single tap, gone for the day.

Zachary turns his head, in the darkness,

And rises to leave - and return the next day!


Briefcase in hand, he walks to the hall,

Where the Xerox machines rest.

As he made a final copy for the day,

To be used the next, a light pulchratis did pour over him.


His glasses gleamed as he viewed the beams -

Twas the lady Mae, leaving for the day,

At this time of night, and - like Zachary -

To return again, the next day!


He arrived home near the hour of the dead -

Treading the streets that all now dread.

Yes, here was his home:

A palace made of shards, shards of his dreams destroyed.


Upon his entrance, Zachary was met

By his wife, Carmen - whore before, Spanish forever - smoking her pipe,

"That daughter of yours," she said as she puffed a great puff,

"She take after me, of that I am sure."


"How mean you by this?" Zachary asked, undaunted

By the Spanish beauty's words.

"Out again! She is at some party, a party most vile:

Selling her body, her soul all the while."


"The address, damn you, have you the address?" Zachary asked now,

"For if you have the address, I shall swing by, and find her.

Bring her home, or what is called home."

"Tis written somewhere in that room of hers - I'll find it!"


Some time later, Zachary was off to that party

To rescue his daughter from her mother's regret.

She's your daughter Zachary, she's now a whore -

Oh, drive on Zachary, make haste, make haste!


His Buick parked in front of the allegedly ill-reputed house,

Zachary ran up the porch, and in through a portal.

Inside, the horrors he saw - not fit for a man, not at all!

Smoke and smog, Spic and Wog - all are here, equally worthless as the next.


He dug deep into the house, and found his daughter,

Her being twice a lover, in one moment.

Out he reeled her, she was still in a daze,

Zachary threw her into the Buick, and drove away.


Where to take her? Where to go?

This plucked flower, this sown field,

What to do?

O Zachary, Zachary, please do something! Anything!


The Buick pulled over, this time, on a bridge,

Zachary left the car, the ignition still ignited.

He dragged his daughter now to the side of the bridge,

And, with little resistance, gave her to the river below.


O Zachary! Your flesh! Your blood!

All is as it was, as if it never were,

Down below, in the river, blue

With dreams at its bottom - tarnished gold.


That night he drove back to his palace,

His queen awaiting, breath baiting.

He told her sublimely that their daughter

Was nowhere to be found - he told her this kindly.


Tears were shed, bodies hugging -

All this, for a whore, once their daughter?

O Zachary, surely you have done her a favor,

No more disgrace, no more - 16 years down a river.


That next morn, back at the office,

He gave Mae a letter, the one he had copied

When Mae had been leaving.

The letter read:


Mae, tea sometime? Sincerely, Zachary Pilard


FIN