I think this poem has a terrific meter. I couldn't bear the thought of analysing it but it's vital and emphatic. Just races along.
A pheasant farm where we watched a pheasant’s ascent
translate into a dent
on our automobile. Wham.
I bet they could make out even on the jam-cam
steam rising from the vent
of a wound dressed with sphagnum moss.
Bosom-boss.
The white line running all the way from the badger
to the gamekeeper-turned-poacher
who really couldn’t give a toss
One of my favourite bits.
Janet
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