Beyond The Sky At Night

Here we go touring again
The post-Holocaust
Not quite post-Holocene

Both driver and guide -
The worst psychopaths -
Learned their route from worse despots

The moon no longer
So nebulous;
The sun still perilously dear

All the dusty fruits of the sky
Nearer the harvest;
Farther away.

poem by Jay D. Allard
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Subterranean Car Sick Buzzard

Remember the field with the buried car

Front offside wing and section of roof
Protruding from stony mud
You said Perhaps there was a time slip
Been here for centuries
Romans, at a guess

Mr Buzzard dekkos down from forest hide
Peripheral scan over fossil car, no mind

And why doesn't he go for our eyes? I wonder
Well he'd like to, but he'd never think
To try and take them, you say
Not in him. Attack hugely improbable.

But I just saw a Humber buried in a sheepfield

Buzzard loops again
I put on my shades and it begins to rain

poem by Jay D. Allard
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