The ogre excreted rivulets of sweat,
his leather halter stained octal white.
Officially, the torture was to begin at nine, sharp
but paperwork had mercilessly delayed him.
It should have been a very simple job,
had not the faerie such ungodly small limbs.
As the ogre rested on the castle’s rock
cut from hell with fire and death,
he felt a breeze like a thousand wings
and cursed their obscene devotion to a king.
Colin James has several chapbooks of poems, Dreams of the Really Annoying from Writers Knight Press and A Thoroughness Not Deprived of Absurdity from Pisces’s Porch Press and book of poems, Resisting Probability, from Sagging Meniscus Press. He lives in Massachusetts with two cats, Dorothy and Jane.
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