ELEPHANT MOUNTAIN

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Last Lure

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I cast the line as far
as my weary arm will reach,
just beyond
the grey ragged shore
and sunless ripples.
 
For a moment
my hook
catches flight
on a willing
breeze,
 
so high and fast
it rides
shuddering wildly
with the rush
of fresh updraft,
 
only to
swiftly lose
its lofty hold,
plunging into black
below.
 
Its tarnished body
bares hints
of lustrous light
as it spirals towards
a stony grave,
 
the lead weights
on its polyester spine
ensuring
a fast final
descent.

If only I had remembered
to tie a scarlet red
float to the line,
          
I could have saved
my last remaining lure.
 

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To My Knees

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I wrench my fat frame
from the darkest corner—
two walls stronger than one
safety in numbers
not humans,
not in this meat market.
Eyes dragged down
by swollen lids,
too weary now
to feign fascination
with frauds in heat
still lusting
for that perfect score,
not me.
 
I shove round
the raucous remains
of this mating game
into the hush of night                                                                     
to steady, to stop
my heavy sway
from collapse,
to calm the angry fire
rejection feeds,
to let me breathe.
 
Lips lock
in grim resignation
to this lonely life
of my own making,
forcing my heart’s
last slivers
of light
to finally break free—
to bring me
to my knees.
            

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the small and the quiet
 

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they are everywhere—
 
the bud bursting
its premature glory in the hot February sun,
the reddened bark
crumbling with hungry holes
 
the anemic coral expelling its last bloom
on the feverish tide,
the snowflake vanishing
within the slushy sky
 
they are everywhere—
 
the lone calf trembling
in the glare of clear-cuts,
the cub marooned
on a breakaway berg
 
the newborn retching
milk from its infected mother,
the wasted child devouring
putrid piles of rot
 
they are everywhere—
 
dying
for someone
to notice them
 
silently screaming.

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