[John Riley]

Revision

One Blow, One Bite

I could kill him with one blow
of the shovel gripped in my hand.
He could kill me with a leaping snarl.

The space between us is empty,
no fireflies or June bugs flutter.
An afternoon light grows faint

in the grove acres from home.
Why was I digging? Why did he slip
out of the trees into the small clearing?

We could kill each other in seconds
and nothing will make it mean more
than two packages of meat and bone,

him with two extra flexed legs,
draining each other's blood.
I stare into his yellow-blue eyes.

I have fear but my fear isn't here.
It only contends with shame.
Our two breaths make one clock.



***


One Blow, One Bite

I could kill him with one blow
of the shovel gripped in my hand.
He could kill me with a leaping snarl.

The space between us is empty,
no fireflies or June bugs flutter.
An afternoon light grows faint

in the grove acres from home.
Why was I digging? Why did he slip
out of the trees into the small clearing?

We could kill each other in seconds
and nothing will make it mean more
than two packages of meat and bone,

him with two extra flexed legs,
draining each other's blood.
I stare into his yellow-blue eyes.

I have fear but my fear isn't here.
It only contends with shame.
Our two breaths make one clock.

While the silence is colorful and bright,
we are not graced with wings or fire
when the last of the light leaves for the night.