Poem of The Week | Show Saturday By Rachel Burns
By Rachel Burns
We stop to watch four white geese
herded into a pen by a border collie
taking instructions from a red- headed man
who whistles left and right turns
one short whistle, one long.
Something goes wrong
and the four white geese escape.
The collie dog confused gives chase
the geese fly into the air, up, up and away.
You take my hand
and lead me into the show tent
the ground muddy and wet
there is a smell of saw dust
wet clothes and dog,
and a sharp intake of breath
at the hot stink of ferrets.
In the middle, cages and cages of racing pigeons
and old men smoking cigarettes, talking about their birds
as if they are kept women.
I walk away and stop to talk to the bee keeper.
He has taken a section of the colony
and placed it into a glass frame
so people can see the hive’s busy industry,
the drones working in the honeycombed catacombs
while the Queen lies on her back, fat and swelling
waiting for the day she will be balled out of the hive.
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