Franz Anton Ketterer Never Foresaw This

by Ron Czerwien

Ron Czerwien’s maternal grandparents lived
in a cottage in the woods. All day long his
grandfather, dressed in Lederhosen, stood
on the porch sawing a log, his grandmother,
wearing a paisley dress, poked her head out
of the kitchen window, smiling. Every hour
the cottage roof sprung open and Ron Czerwien
popped up crying “Cuckoo.” All of them were
carved from Lindenwood, like the clock that
hangs on a wall inside the home of the local
Bürgermeister. Outside, a mob of angry
villagers wielding torches and pitchforks
prepare to destroy the monster. They’ve done
this before, over and over, since time was
kept. Always get it wrong. Some innocent
who’s doomed because they are different.
Before you call me a monster, answer this:
how many body parts do I have to nail
to this tree to represent the number
of divisions between us?