WARREN LEVER

SACRIFICES

Overhanging oak and wet leaves

bunched on windscreen.

we’ve got beat up cars,

frost in the morning.

talking cheap upholstery

plastic like

bad fathers

blue mothers

all the dead bodies stuffed in trunks;

the bits of them left turns an antler

and ‘bleats’:

“one man – has too many Gods

and twists the eye of nature.”

Then trots through the car park,

laps up puddles by the river bank.

a young girl in the blowing current.

cries and washes her pussy out

in the clouding water.

“my lovers fade.

as poor comedians must.”

condoms, bear cans, jobs –

the red trailing downriver.

HELLO MORNING

Om Tare Tutare Ture Svaha

A young mother stood by the gate

wrapped in a striped bathrobe

half waving- holding the bairn.

In the loose skin bellow her belly

is where the Lord Buddha sits

and casts an eye over

the man in the dirty jacket

leaving the estate

through the playing fields.

and the lotus sun knew

that man was in my shadow

last night lying for both of you.

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SENTINEL POETRY (ONLINE) #31, JUNE 2005. ISSN 1479-425X