A life in poetry
staccato conversation on
our walk to preschool
first observe the dead rat
laid out in the gutter
long tail ribbed like a worm skin
next pass the bat
pinned to the ground
by gravity’s inevitability
then the carcass of a cat
and the howl of a man crumpled in the gutter
his lover hovering unable to cross grief’s divide
return to the rattatattat of our conversation
rat bat cat rat cat bat
in the distance
the bullet connects like a sting
the bullock slumps in the paddock
in hock deep grass
the hunter lays down the gun
settling the scope gently
before sprinting knife drawn
to cut the throat and bleed the beast out
a ceremony played in silence
the disconnect between sight and sound
leads my four year old son
to report the scene as seen
that cow just fell over
an innocence not even
these events could extinguish
the hunter controls
his pulse as he pulls the trigger
his chest constricts
the hunter fears
the quarry stands in blissful
ignorance
will you eat what you kill
the beast winched
onto the truck
deck slick with blood
slithering
then strung up
stripped of hide
eviscerated and butchered into portions
are you prepared to kill what you eat
the daily mix of seed and mash deposited
inside your wire enclosure
fenced to keep the cat out not you in
click and chirrup as you circle
quizzical as I mimic you
in the scramble for the feed
you walk over my feet
eyes targeting the largest corn amongst the seed
a sudden dart extracts that morsel with precision
the focus of your greed
I reach into the nest
a perfect bowl lined with lilac feathers
and collect two pale blue eggs
to complete the exchange
your feathered carcass lay
Elvis white with yellow quiff
in the gutter where your flightpath
intersected with the road
bitumen black beak and claws
for days your cohort of lairs
hung about the wires strung above
scooped into a bag
and dumped into the bin
on collection night
no viking funeral for you
I held your surprising heft
feathers softer than skin
your natural life span
longer than my own
looming large and suddenly
at speed there is no time
as you slam into the windscreen
with such force
the wipers are activated
all that remains
the perfect imprint of your wings
and a smear across the glass