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
Brother Mouse
(2017, Stephanie Foster)
Congratulations! You’ve found a bonus poem!
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)