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Three Poems about the South

1.

I wish I had
                    another job, thought
Judge John Manley Taylor, and sat
down at his kitchen table.

 

2.

Sanderling delves, hoping
to appeal, fluff its white breast
and survive the sand-spy's camera.

Whereas the three pelicans are action.
On the wing, each missile
spears forward : Hah, Atlantic!
Hah, major ocean with its slate sky!
We can break through sound
on point, by choice, and land.

 

3.

Picky-eater child from a landlocked state
grows slightly to hanker for fish.
Raw. Glitter-eye, sharptooth,

the new creature bites sashimi,
approves the ginger and green radish paste.

What is it, now? The plains bred bread,
not this tomcat-clawed howl going gollum

in its throat. Go figure
                                        If I were a hobbit
in this state I'd lie low, drive a truck.

This poem appears in the 2003 Anthology
View all poems by Gwyn McVay