Three Poems

The Teacher

Still, still, still, the raven
flies up. His fingered
wings wagging as Mr Foley's fingers
wag at the children. And he old in his teeth.
And he old in his knees. And knowing little
and helping no one. Only his fingers
wagging like a curtain going up
and a curtain going down.

In the low field
the cow with no hair on her knees
walks backwards under the locust tree. And the boy
Mr Foley pointed at with his many fingers
waits for her. Stands in the flop
and waits, his hands full of powder
to free her of flies.
...