Friday, June 28, 2013

Leaden Beasts

A bird flaps her wooden wings.
The hinges squeak. She preens
her curled birch bark feathers
with her wooden beak, coughs up
sawdust and shavings to feed
her chicks. They clack hungrily
in a nest made of fingers and scraps
of flesh, high up in a sycamore
whose bark is warm skin,
a tree bristling with follicles,
with a trunk that if tapped,
leaks blood instead of sap.
The forest bruises easily,
and the trees shudder when one
of its heavy metal denizens
stirs from its ten-ton slumber
to shamble off in search of a lazy meal
of low-hanging fruit that they pluck
with no mercy or anesthetic, without
bothering to tourniquet or even bandage
the hemorrhaging limbs.
The forest floor grows slippery,
but these lumbering beasts have no need
to run, their alloys being too dense
for even the steeliest predators,
the jungles not yet penetrated
by the men on safari armed with
cold saws and acetylene torches

1 comment:

  1. The imagery is stunning, unsettling. A reminder that we live in a cruel world.