Saturday, 24 March 2012

The Black Diamond Jacob


The Jacob was still alive
Acceptable face of sheep the
Black diamond demonic head
Softened sometimes with panda eyes
Other times just plain wicked
But still the aesthetic choice of
Good lifers
Four black horns

A thousand shetlands on the hill
Subsidies on legs they would say
The horn is living you know
Not dead
Because I had to saw right through
Before the curled one at his cheek
Bored into the skull
He was a ram
And going to the slaughter anyway
But the colour of  blood is something else
Like port

Two straight spirals like ibis
Two curled like Mary Quant
Mute nose the
Stippled black plastic
Of a rather serious toy bear

This time she was still alive
Her one hind leg curving arcs into the earth
The tireless repititious failure
To lever her haunches upwards
Leg of mutton

So I
Heave her onto her feet
She collapses
I bring the barrow
And clasp my arms round her chest
Wishing it was easier
Breast bone 
A fin of cuttle fish
Rammed through the gently rusting bars
Of a bird cage
In a damp house

I drag her backwards, it’s a
Murder movie, hind legs skitting
Fore legs jolting with the dips
Expression of passive resignation.

She flops into the barrow sedan
Hind quarters  folded in after
And sits afloat
As if it is her place
To travel by barrow these days
Watching the rooks
To get her eyes.

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