ZIPZAP

A word e-flashes
into the outer world
news, how
in a muddy stubble field
a dog zigzags air-
scent to a man
zapped dead
by high-wire lines
himself shot down,
puddling their current
in November bog.
A dog with wind
in his nose hits
there too.  Extra-
extra, zip-
zap.


PICNIC PARABLE

Say you come with a picnic-
basket full of apples, bread
and yellow warbler feathers,
marigolds and cheese, collected
sunlight of all the months
of summer.  Past the border
the way the sun goes, say
there's a stranger come
to share your feast.

But see, the path drops
into chasm, a ravine
with slip-shale edges.
Listen to that ominous
ripping at the core.
And in all your picnic
basket, not a cable, pier
or truss, abutment, not
a tool for spanning gaps.

So you spread your picnic flat
and easy by a streamlet's
gentling gurgle over pebbles
in a meadow, saying nothing.
Not mentioning war or famine,
foreign languages or friends
gone bad.  A picnic's just
a metaphor.  So pour yourself
a little Chardonnay.


PORKERS

Gutted,
this one isn't even hog
anymore, but stuff
for sausages.  Just like
Lucy's husband what's-
his-name who cooks up
every occasion, fattening
his fingers with frying.
You'd hardly catch him
with a fork between, but
my, how he extends
the belly under his smile.


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