Taste Is Victory (poem)

 

 

 

Taste is Victory

 

Taste is victory

You may as well not look

Chaos, my partridge, is like

The eye of shame in poor attire

Swiveling and cocking

As with these fowls I carry to the village fair

Feathers ruffle and each movement stirs the air

 

Once I began to earn my pay

I, a valued citizen, and my worth

Manifest to the boulevard

I merely say, “What will I do today?”

My dear, it is enough

We do not rule the stars

They rule us

 

 

 

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Brother Mouse

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(2017, Stephanie Foster)

 

 

 

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Congratulations! You’ve found a bonus poem!

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Mourning Doves

 

Untrue the story

To your undoing

You have been charged

With someone’s errand

But how does the story begin

Once upon a time

 

As the road, so the mind

Unimproved, unleveled

Not filled, too narrow

Some unwise crone who terrified with an iron stove

The wing-beat of reluctant mourning doves

Driven from their crumbs

Like old women hieing themselves away

 

Another coin of solace spent

Choked through the filter

Moss and meadow, mud and gravel

Asphalt highway from the forest

To the city

Still the waft of old attachment

You’re unfair to those who hatched you

 

You find a witch at home

The same crone

The brain trust that informed her

Turned the cruel side of the coin

This fungible asset has a magical aspect

The poor servant waiting at the table

Bears the punishment

 

 

 

 

 

(2015, Stephanie Foster)