there they died of dysentry

 once upon a time a long time ago in a place felt more than remembered, 
there lived a dog called simon. 
simon was vicious, renown for his teeth and grim face, 
scarred though never lost in battle. so he said, 
and all believed him who listened. 
few got close enough to listen.
his viciousness was triggered by proximity. 
only one foolish small dog 
walked nearby. 
a whimpering little mutt that mostly ate garbage
and quivered in the rain. 
little mutt was called benjamin, 
though no body called him that. 
they just laughed or kicked, 
or like simon, ignored. 
benjamin was simon’s shadow. 
always behind, hidden, 
quick to avoid observation. 

the two lived on the wasteland behind the new village, 
where trucks occasionally passed to dump rubbish. 

there they died of dysentery. 

The chicken is gone, presumed dead

 i arrived home late last night
and it was gone
2 weeks ago i saw it
now not a stir
it’s nest is dead
all old eggs broken
no new eggs laid for 2 weeks or more.
i cannot remember the last egg.
i stop and i stare
at the land unturned
plants growing fresh
under none gyrated skies
fresh shoots uneaten. not pecked.
the chicken is gone
the chicken is dead
long live the chicken

The grin

Turning over & starting again
he lay in bed with
a shifty neighbour
kicking, thrashing, writhing, snoring
An eel in the sack with a voice
Uncommunicative & foul
He'd seen her on the toilet and he ran away
to afraid to believe
she was a vessel, processing
A pit, mechanism
he'd hoped for angel, without holes
he'd gotten the same as him.
And now in bed
he heard the word spoken
seen the grin in the candlelight
her sleeping body grimacing
the word over & over
over again
'work, work, work.'
& he cried till he felt so bitter

Only to meet a lady female gal.

She stood tall, though short
smiled with a frown
and was drunk endlessly, smoking like a trooper
At first he feared her smell
Now he liked it
She came and went
Infrequently when she pleased
He stopped saying no and making her cry
Overwhelmed by her interest
He gave up fighting
It will come and go, rise and fall, grow and shrink.
Become accustomed and then unaccustomed
the grief will equal the belonging
Until they are released.