Ars Atritatis

My heritage is unto me as a lion in the forest; it cries out against me…

I.

I was born to a dream,

a dream to make mine

my pleasant portion

now the left bank

of a snotgreen retention pond

II.

We helped log our Aborvitae

for lumber to build housing projects

We would be perplexed at the new tree—

the hollow harvest bears only strange fruits—

but for the squabbles over bread-scraps

III.

and though the white fox ends

his gnashing tips in the tender necks of lambs

he also saves the thoughtless flocks

from their wandering, wooly servitude

which meets its end

at the farmer’s blade

is that not merciful?

IV.

I looked out

from the stoop of my log cabin

over the green morning of the blooming lake

and watched two blackbirds fighting

over the fleshy stone of a fruit

silently a white fox snuck

and devoured all three

I turned my eyes down

and kept writing

by: Raymond Alistair

The Unexpected Perspective