Sit down my friends, come hear this true story
It's interesting, but it's also gory

One fine day in eighteen seventy-four
Alferd Packer, who just loved to explore
With five friends, he began a three-month tour
'Cross the Rockies, but don't ask me what for

Six men walked for seventy-five miles
But the voyage just was not all smiles
For you see, when the group finally came back
Five of the men the party now did lack

At the end of those cold seventy-five
Alferd Packer alone finished alive
When asked why, he didn't know what to say
His memory seemed to change day to day

But at last he settled on one version
Of what happened on that long excursion
The police decided this one was true
And it's this one that I'll now tell to you

One hiker, it seemed, whose name had been Bell
Just went insane, but why no one could tell
Packer claimed that Bell had killed all the rest
Of the hikers, and that packer was next

So ole Packer, he said, "I tried my best
To stop him; but I fought back with such zest
Shannon Bell died, but it's just common sense
When I say, I killed him in self-defense"

Then Alferd, he was left with five dead men
What could he do?  It was getting cold then
So Alferd, to warm up that freezing hell
Took the body and he devoured Bell

For dessert he then ate his other four
Dead companions; but hey — what are friends for?
When finished, he caused a sensation
By arriving at the tour's destination

When Alferd had ended his gruesome tale
The local cops threw him quickly in jail
Where he served over seventeen long years
But if his fate fills your eyes now with tears

I'll reveal here, he was released alive
Died a free man, the age of sixty-five

who lit the candles
placed so eloquently
behind purple rock?
that sculpted radiance,
chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs

street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants
shuffle their wares
as the front man
and pock face
sing their
holy blues

cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts

a wide mouth snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway

hula hoops
and circle ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy

beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow

a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll

mirrored fly-glass
and polished chrome
are tinted
in the blood orange dawn
running dogs of lummi
hush quiet
on this celestial
summer morn

clubman bars
and tan saddles
strapped to
the lowered hind
skull caps
and fitted chaps
for the open flow
and rich peripheral scene

concessions at the peace arch
(from the blue-coat fuzz)
black *****
and maples
cake the bow hill
and chuckanut

choppers launch
at edison
(with their metal fleck
and tuft)
a half moon rises
on the concho
and interstellar cross

cinnamon gulls
and ravens
scour the netted docks
warlock driftwood
and row homes
spot the winding
coastal roads

rumbling sounds
at the packer slew ~
with the redolence
of briny bay
alive
on the overlook
at fairhaven