what are you doing in my beans ?
or where will you go in the twilight
before the fair ?
The questions hang on the murder tree ;
the leaves challenge fear.
Pacos, your place on the trigger wish
is the committee’s strength ;
we’ve known this
for three safe but dull years.
Where might we go tomorrow
and to whose crib when someone’s out ?
The fair needs your swift arrival
for the needed, long-awaited shift.
With no sun light in prospect,
what will you plant there, Pacos ?
Should we run to our lawyers
or join the law in a bust ?