Trajectories #17

by David Chorlton / January 19th, 2020

Desperation chews a carcass
and won’t let go. It’s taken up
position in a quiet domestic yard
on an afternoon the sky’s a carnivore.
It’s grey
and getting greyer
up there among the clouds
that can’t decide
between civil disagreement and a storm
and if a storm, of rain
or roses. He looks to be an outcast,
one of a pack
left to fend for himself
with his flaking coat and the flash
of light from his teeth
as he grips his last chance.
People walk by with their minds somewhere
other than here, not quite
noticing how he’s a cross
between anchorite and dog, freshly come
from a cave on the mountain
into a world obsessed
with explaining itself, saying this belongs here
that belongs there
and stands half in fear, half
in wonder, when
the elemental struggle plays out
and whatever scraps remain
are food for hungry spirits.

David Chorlton has lived in Phoenix since 1978. He grew up in England with watching soccer as a major part of life although he has managed to move on to other interests since then, including reading and writing poetry. Read other articles by David.

This article was posted on Sunday, January 19th, 2020 at 8:04am and is filed under Poetry.