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The Patron (the Boss of an estancia or ranch)

Indigo evening at the estancia’s homestead:
undulating shadows slink into alcoves,
like black cats a-waiting the witching hour.
Wives gossip round the whispering well
in the pink-tiled patio; scent of magnolia
from bygone romances softens raw realities.

Feigning flippancy, the Patrón remarks
that some of his sheepdogs are wolfish.
They’re cast at night in the Río Negro…
“With stones slung around their necks”.
Lips moving suavely, pride leaps from his eyes
to challenge stilled sounds, hushed songbirds.

Hollow thoughts… I imagine a fingernail moon
indifferently slicing the Austral night’s peace;
feral forms bound in sackcloth shrouds,
sinking under star-filled waters…muffled howls -
perhaps a hound’s prayer for quick release.
I shiver, reach for my shawl from an iron rack.

Servants keep deferential silence;
a couple of farmhands laugh out loud,
flattering the boss. They’d been there…
The Señora glides through a green
door, a phantom renouncing restive crowds.
Her random gaze probes powers unseen.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Review Request (Direction): 
How does this theme appeal to you?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Last few words: 
My father would drive us to an estancia where he was Treasurer, because the patrón was not to be trusted. He was a horrid man, but his wife was nice. We kids enjoyed these visits, mostly. I learned to drive a jeep and rode the sleek horses. These memories are still vivid in my mind.
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

as though, not only was he untrustworthy, but mean too. To get rid of the dogs in such a way, is extremely cruel. Better to shoot them if no other way. I understand the need to protect your flocks and not have a dog that will attack the sheep, but to do it in such a way... Yes, life is like that; and you see that his wife is ashamed and hurt by his vileness. I would assume that he was not the nicest man to work for and most likely an abusive dictator in his household too. You told the story very well and I was right there with you as he lorded it over his domain. excellent work as per usual. ~ Geez.
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Come to chat every Thursday - 3:30 to 4:30 pm. EST.
With: c Lynn Brooks and Geezer

Thank you so much for commenting, dear Geez. He was an awful man, his surname was Saman, I believe he was of Arabian descent. Bad people all over the world, just saying.
Yes, one can shoot dogs, if necessary, but I believe the poor animals behave badly because they're trained by evil men. My Dad hated working with him, the guy cooked the books and my Dad had many arguments with him while being the Treasurer of the estancia.
I'm glad you appreciate the story telling. Some poets say one must "show not tell", but that is rubbish, all the ancient poetry classics were told as stories, from Hesiod, The Odyssey, The Illiad, etc. Also many beautiful Arabian poetry and so on.
Did you ever read the poem in narrative about the little girl Mary? It's charming and sad.
We have a beatiful Spring day and will go for a walk in a while.
All the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

You paint such a horrid picture for these poor dogs and for so much else, ranch means a place of fun here, you bring it all to life with your words so very gracefully. Money does mean power even in today's world, so damn sad.

Thank you...Teddy

Dear Teddy, yes, it's a sad poem. But, believe me, cruelty goes on in all ranches or farms in the world. Hopefully, in just a few. Yes, this evil guy stole money from the owner (who was not my Dad).
Thanks for commenting, all the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

error free and beautiful as always
your imagery is so vivid
and you always offer us a glimpse of reality in your "last Words" section

Join us for the new workshop on Critique basic sign up now

join us for chat every [email protected];30 pm est

Dear lynn, thanks for visiting and commenting. Yes, always something sad and others warm. It's the way things are. I'll see where I can sign up for your workshop. We have a Spring day here, lovely for walking. Best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment
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