Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Exculpatory Vultures

This first cool August morning draws us away,
Down the path where buzzards celebrate
An armadillo’s passing. They prey and pray,
Aware they will share their reeking repast’s fate.
It is a merry wake nonetheless,
Not sailing off until convinced we mean
To crash their party, having learned, I guess,
That humans mess things up. They flap to lean
Into the breeze like lines of lean black smoke
Above this smoldering mundanity
Called earth. Ashamed of death, they would revoke
The sentence, destroy the evidence clandestinely.
Exculpatory vultures clean our land
Lest the disease of death get out of hand.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Red Tail

I don’t begrudge raccoons a chicken now
& then, but when they want one every evening
It’s live trap time. One night I caught a sow
So fat it took a spell of heavy heaving
To load the trap for relocation.
I trucked her to the lake three miles away.
Untrapped, she made a nonchalant migration
Through swampy vines to where I hoped she’d stay.
A fortnight later I heard a stir out back
& set the trap once more. I found at five
I’d caught the same old sow again, I think,
The same in attitude and oversized
At least. This time I sprayed her tail bright red
Before I dropped her off. Enough said.

Monday, August 23, 2010

Conversation at Lake De Queen

Come to nose the fresh green growth, five deer
Beside subsiding waters stand calm not quick
To sail away in air when we come near.
They munch a mouthful more before they kick
Up muddy spray in flight that seems so slow,
Though they are deep in woods before she says,
“Time is an illusion in its flow,
Seeming slow and yet. . .” Within her pause
I add my spin, “Time doesn’t flow at all
But sometimes gives us slack to contemplate.”
“I wouldn’t take it there,” she says, “because
The deer were moving fast--our minds were late
To grasp.” Late to grasp defines our lives,
For in our final grasp no time survives.