WHIRLWIND WOLF
It has run ten seasons to find fresh meat: the wolf that‟s at the back door howling. It‟ll cook our goose on Beaufort Mark Twelve, though the drainpipe is painted with antifouling.
The weathercock‟s gone with a splintery snap. Molars are rending the heater cowling. Tempered steel? Soft margarine, for the wolf wind that‟s at the back door howling.
The fat of the land greases her lung to inhale the plumbing, and vomit the towelling. The guttering‟s gone to her guttering gut, though the drainpipe is painted with antifouling.
The happy home‟s in her maundering jaw, and the flesh of the brick is dissolving. It‟s all she-wolf round the front patio: the wolf wind that‟s at the back door howling!
She‟s quaffing us with a brandy-snap wine. She‟s dissolving us up in her bilious fountain; we‟re drawn up a straw, like water and gore, through the drainpipe we painted with antifouling.
Now she‟s flying back to Gran Canaria. Our lupins lie crushed. Our final pooch is growling. The thistles lament. The bare foundations whistle the wolf that was at the back door howling.
PHILIP BURTON Philip Burton's full collection, "Too Young to Forget", is shortly to be published - ISBN 978-1-904124-12-2
34
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32 |
Page 33 |
Page 34 |
Page 35 |
Page 36 |
Page 37 |
Page 38 |
Page 39 |
Page 40 |
Page 41 |
Page 42 |
Page 43 |
Page 44