Dragonfly Pinned
Long after the hover,
the swift hairpin turn,
the zoom up, down, backward
aborted mid-flight,
the gleaming Blue Dasher
pinned for dorsal display
is distorted by motionlessness,
pearlescent wings dimmed.
Where once was a voracious head
with omnidirectional eyes
and a serrated maw
that dispatched with one crunch,
the yellow stripes on his thorax
seem to conjure an impotent ruler
sporting a faded gold crown
in the shape of the Tin Woodman’s hat.
This is a monarch unmanned,
missing two of the six thorny legs
needed for clinging to prey
and for grasping a mate:
the insect equivalent
of the maimed Fisher King,
yet minus a hero to heal him.
No Grail Galahad in the frame,
just a host of small sycophants,
charged with escorting his soul
like the sacrificed servants
in an ancient Egyptian funeral.
The Black Beast
A dark presence lurks,
follows me skittishly
through the predictable bustle of work,
skulks just out of sight,
biding its time
before it reveals its bestial shape.
Saturday’s daylight holds it at bay
even as it builds strength from my apathy,
my lack of joy.
Outside the circle of brightness
I hear it snarl and pace
Dusk dulls my defences
and alcohol tempts,
but experience teaches that alcohol
sanctions the predator to move in.
Against which threat I gather my talismans:
a Schubert quartet,
favourite stanzas from In Memoriam,
a potent elixir of hope in the form
of a road-trip adventure.
Thus transmute the beast
into conqueror’s gold.
Unpeaceable Kingdom
Sweet white wallpaper lambs
gaze down on the barely grown girl
a pillow pulled over her ears
to muffle the roar of the lioness
who paces outside her locked door.
A mother sweetly maternal in daylight,
transformed at night to a maenad
determined to strip and to shred.
A father, born under Leo himself,
no match for a Sphinx in her wrath,
a Sekhmet rampaging for blood.
No hope but to wait out the frenzy,
count on the fuel that provoked it
to put her to sleep.
Compensation Enough
Lost: the music of sweet morning birds,
the sibilance of cicadas, the peep of frogs.
Also vanished: the solace of rain on the roof,
plot points in uncaptioned films,
quips or comments that cause a group laugh.
Hearing aids, yes. Though they also augment
the ambient racket of restaurants,
the clamour of crowded rooms,
the sudden blast of an engine in traffic,
even explosive male sneezes.
It’s counterintuitive and ironic
that losing perception of sound
sensitizes the ear to its amplified volume,
the physical pain of a sharp surge of noise
startles me into a flareup of rage.
Yet pressing my better ear into the pillow
ensures no disturbance from thunder
or telephone calls or the snores of another.
No small reward for the far greater blessing
of waking with clear morning eyes.
Where Anthropomorphism Shows Up
Among social psychology labels,
where it’s considered a cognitive bias,
and in literature, as personifications of animals,
plants, and non-sentient objects.
In the vintners who sing to their grapes to encourage
their blush, or waste treatment microbiologists
who played Mozart to their microbes
to inspire their efficient decomposition of sewage.
In sensational headlines like “Plants Scream for Help
When Injured or Stressed,” merely in reference to
the high-frequency clicks they emit
when their soil dries out or their stems have been cut.
Whenever we curse our computers,
note that it’s pissing down rain,
smile at the Geico gecko or Tony the Tiger,
or kiss the dice for good luck.
Whenever we cherish a pet like a child,
use benign or malignant to label a cyst,
understand bread and wine as god’s body and blood,
or appeal for help to an invisible god.
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