Flying Monkeys

How banal is heartbreak

the masses bellying up to the bar

imbibing the bitter brew by the gallon

fermented from the pounds of flesh

she's collected in jars of formaldehyde

to preserve them for her purpose

her potent potion arousing their pain

She remains silent as her patrons take 

the pitchforks she keeps sharpened 

by the door and drunkenly stumble out 

Smiling with self-serving satisfaction 

she counts the currency filling the till