He sits outside and tells the tale,
but never lets her know
the story features future her,
and hopes for a hero.

She’ll play the lover and the mother
made wise too late to fly —
a mark with many a booster
but not one true ally.

She’s too naïve, too laidback, and
under-classed to wrestle —
a jungle lamb who, thus, becomes
the bled and the vessel.

They’ll quibble over right and wrong
as she lays in the way,
and will conclude evil was done
too late in her last day.

And sitting on an upturned crate
she would never suspect
that a listener would become
this yarn’s shattered object.