Point Of View – John Muk Muk Burke

Water’s near my house……………..

not far from the rest in fact.

Nasty stuff, water,

in its muddy track.

Birds migrate with fleas

and other parasites

shedding shit

across the bank……………..

in the stream.

Cockatoos scream

car crash screaks

while leeches

lurk in fetid mud.

Mosquitoes harass like harpies

siphoning the blood

of warmer critters

as they litter thistle-groves

with acid-dripping muck

tossed without a thought

from arses in the sun’s bright light

or sometimes spread pink and white in moonless

nights along the moving mess.

I guess it’s all a point of view.

STC had much to say of this.

But I just want to know…………………

WHO PUT THEM THERE?

WHERE ARE THEY FROM?

WHAT’RE THEY UP TO?

WHEN DID THEY GET HERE?

WITH WHO’S PERMISSION?

And, more to the point,

WHEN WILL THEY GO AWAY

out of here?

WHO GAVE THEM THIS SPACE?

(and why do they occupy this space

when they are themselves

such a waste of space?)

 

Tiger snakes

dig beneath the banks………………

compete with destructive platypus…………….

old duck-bill wins………………

but both leave shit outside holes………….

don’t bury it at all.

Small mounds there are

steaming up the air

while no-one seems to care

if dry-shed skin lies unarranged,

not tidy, but melting into earth

where it began.

The land seems not to mind

not even though trees carelessly

mess the ground and steal

food from lesser grasses

that struggle to survive…………..

just to stay alive like

those spiders catching flies

in traps strung all between the sticks

and other tricks

about the place.

The stream itself colludes with the very sun,

confiscating moisture willy-nilly……………..

encouraging theft with careless disregard

for property.

High winds behave with havoc…………

sweep the river valley

much like goths and visigoths,

blasting bees and moths,

butterflies, tiny finches,

great black crows

and meaner, murderous other birds

of prey.

I say, does the sky care?

Do mammals give a toss?

What’s one beast’s gain is

merely someone else’s loss.

Lightning strikes the hugest trees,

scrambling bark on dirt,

belching flame and smoke,

flattens work that made the nests,

roasting fledgling flesh and feathers……..

even eggs all fried-up in a conflagration.

Who knows?

Who cares?

Some mammals made a pile of dirt

to keep the fast stream back

from nests of smart device.

Nests with drains

deposit shit at last down in the river

sort of saying……………….

That’s what we think of you!

They are

arguably

the only ones with something of

a point of view.

You might even say

a poo-view

or piss-poor way of

doing business.

They even made a bridge

of trees

to pass across the putrid flow:

It served them well a hundred years

but then it had to go.

Great loss?

Who gives a toss

if monster galaxy

slips silently down the drain of

some black hole?

Who hears the crying stars?

The mournful planets

tossed like toy cars

by a brutish boy

into the family’s trash?

Smash they go

and then get gathered up

by the celestial rubbish mob

who dump them somewhere else.

Where?

Through some worm-hole?

Across dimensions yet unknown?

Some cosmic Bermuda triangle……………..

like a spider’s trap along

the river’s bank?

Who said something

about someone

somewhere

somehow

caring

for a sparrow?

Another point of view

I s’pose.

Who knows?

Not I…………