Tag Archives: evolution

The Crow and the Lime Green Plastic Egg

The Crow and the Lime Green Plastic Egg

there’s a crow
black against the snow
pecking at a lime green plastic egg
down by Jericho Beach Park

the egg will not crack

the crow grabs the egg in its beak
flies to the top of a tree
drops the egg
and flies back down to check its status
the crow repeats this sequence
a number of times

the egg will not crack

the lifetime of a crow
is approximately eight years
the lifetime of a lime green plastic egg
is approximately five hundred years

the egg, therefore, will outlast the crow
the best we can hope for
is that the crow is laying down
some kind of evolutionary marker
one that establishes for future crows
that not all objects
shaped like eggs
are actual eggs

a woman scurries by
wearing a long black hooded coat
the hood obscures her face
she appears to be on an urgent mission

the crow turns from the egg
and cackles:
Where’s your scythe, Mrs. Death,
where’s your scythe?
You can’t do grim, if you don’t have a sickle
if you don’t have a scythe.
Where’s your scythe, Mrs. Death,
where’s your scythe?

The theme this week over at earthweal was “Already Dead”, I missed the deadline for that one so I’m also linking this to Open Link Weekend at earthweal.

Talking About Evolution (2 poems)

Blue sunset 2


Watching the Knowledge Network

The earnest English anthropologist
is talking about evolution.
He shows a film of long-haired men
digging on the shores of a lava lake in Africa.
Later, one of them appears wearing a big collar,
a big tie and bushy sideburns.
He has a collection of bones
which he assembles into a skeleton.
A debate follows
about the significance of tools
in our leap from ape to man.

On the coffee table is a copy of “The Little Red Hen”
as retold by Maria M. Southgate M.A. B.Com.
I make an astonishing discovery.
On page thirty-six, the little red hen
is cutting her field of wheat
with a very sharp knife,
and immediately I think:
those idiots, those bell-bottomed fools
as the clamber over each other
into our bollock-naked past
they have completely over-looked the tool-wielding fowl.
All the degrees in the world,
and they miss something so barn-door obvious
I found the above poem today in a box in my basement, while doing a pandemic purge. It was probably written in the late eighties. The odd thing is I was trying to figure out how to respond to Brendan’s prompt over at earthweal, in which he asks us to write about ”evolution” and this poem turns up out of nowhere. (There was a rejection note from Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin of Cyphers magazine, saying she liked it but it was too much of “a one idea poem”.)

In the same box, I found another evolution related poem, which again I had completely forgotten about. I had to ask myself, have I actually evolved as a writer since then……and, you know, I’m not sure…..there is still that tendency to be facetious….talking of facetious, here’s the other poem..


There was a young lady from Orilla
who fell in love with a gorilla
in Toronto, at the zoo.

She could not stay with him
or have her way with him,
she did not know what to do.

Then the government
gave her a grant
to build a halfway home,

a micro-climate
for the primate,
a keeper out on loan.

With visiting rights
and hot jungle nights
all her problems were solved.

Until one day
I’m sorry to say
the goddamn gorilla evolved.