Gastropod FTL transmission


He eats only from 600 terahertz bowls to skirt

Transmitters in cartons and plastics

Swapping shoes, swabbing doorjams

And cultivating a queue of nervous ticks

That he sets on aleatory

Mountains out of radula; he has no idea

How we function, after all

He thinks sand can run backward

If we decide or fail to decide

Either way, he keeps unearthing packets

And he is eroding precious coastlines

With his paranoia

Maybe the worst thing we could do

Is to address the problem

Agreed. If nothing were to change

His fellows still would not take him seriously

And our C-Class Conservation Programme

Would maintain net welfare gains so tiny

That no one would take notice

In the Plenary Budget

Let’s go with that, but tell me again

Why we bother with hominids

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The Sea-Girl’s Undertows


Image result for old painting mermaid

One naked, pink-shell ear is his

Words made of spice and rumbling

He sounds like hills she’s never seen

Conifer fires, fragrant humming

She gleans dark loam from his smile

Far from the sand and rocks and waves

Warmth drawing her from whitecaps

An effervescent nature stayed

Salt glitters on cheeks, on eyelids

As pale and slight as he is hearty

Her kelp hair like matted feathers

Eyes blue, bewitched and longing

She listens although cracks spider

Over her lips and back and hair

Heart burning out of the water

That kept her sleek and fair

And she listens to him still

After he has journeyed on

One pink-shell ear turned white

Sowing undertows of want

~

Elizabeth Cook, 2018