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POEM: the chase

the chase

300,000 madcap monks
line up in rows

myopics who cannot follow
the treeing of the raccoon
by a pack of wiseacre hounds

the raccoon’s claws draw
molasses from the trunk

a dark glob balancing on its
nose like a circus trick

the monks follow the smell
to the base of the tree

where sits a Spanish violinist
who plays a jaunty reel

the monks begin dancing
the raccoon begins dancing
the tree begins dancing

the hounds circle round
find soft spots in the sticky grass
and settle down to sleep

Published in Audio Poems My poems Poetry

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