Omaha Zoo: Souvenir

That's monumental plastic at its best--
the detail, the simian grin, and nostrils too,
the sheen of faux fur grooves built to outlast
a teething, bawling tot who wants to chew.

The real gorilla Casey-- he has no charm,
chunking in the corner of his habitat--
an also plastic, slim terrarium.
The lug's a quarter ton-- that's estimate,

since even nervous weighers have their limits.
The visitors of future prisoners here
may see another ape and never know that
Casey died and this is just another

jungle replica that they can watch
dig the dung and beetles from his crotch.



Fresh-Cut Grass

I am a bound rural,
a regular hayseed of a less
urban upbringing, where Verizon wireless 
snubs us beyond the thistly horizon, and God godawful

keeps the tar melted on the roofs and lust lethal
amongst the corn and crucifix that feed us.
Oh hear us oh Lord we work or bust,
and this land is our land till 

the edge of the Dakota Sioux casino where 
farmers who got their yield risk
it all, while I make like I'm better, cultured, and mow

four lawns for thirty dollars before I wander
the gravel street to Eden all take here, and ask
lightning bugs to take my heart away with their receding glow.


Amazon Changeling


I ordered a rubber child
custom-made, I've seen
such lifelike babies, wild

the things you buy, styled
to meet our needs.  I dreamed
of having a real child

that doesn't move, skin mild–
a natal color scheme,
I'll name it something wild.

It needs no soul defiled
by brutish pain that seems
to rot the purest child.

Amazing they could build
a silent soft machine,
but if it should turn wild

and leave my brain beguiled,
I'll throw it in the flames,
yearn for a living child,
warm-blooded cries so wild.