The meat man's rant to the vegetarians

Eating shite out of a plastic box again,
you moaners and whingers who eat to live?
Eat? Greens, beans - and not the beans you get in tins -
roughage, dear God, chewing, mandibles straining.
Eating as an act of public contempt
for gobblers of steak and bacon and chicken,
for scoundrels who want sugar in their tea.
Looking at ye eating would make a man sick,
taking out your plastic - ha! - lunch boxes,
opening them reverentially,
commencing to chew with grim little smiles
whatever sludge is contained inside.
Eating you may reflect on your goodness
compared to those who have not seen the light
or lack the moral - if you can tolerate a pun - fibre.

I would rather be marked down as a sinner
in the book of vegetarian crimes
and sentenced to a hell of roast beef and gravy
than dine in paradise on the likes of that.

Published, 1999, in Books Ireland, May issue.

Eco-warrior

He crouches
like a leopard
over dials
sniffs out prey.
Like a man who shoots little birds on Sundays
at the edge of the forest
he hunts decibels
on hard margins by motorways;
tracks transgressors in company registration files
studies spoors in county development plans.
He sucks sustenance for his long stalking from environmental impact studies,
perches now and then on trees
daring growling chainsaws,
happy as a child in a garden
absorbed by action who has become the doing itself.

Published, 1999, in Books Ireland, December issue.

The female geriatric ward

The girls are beached in geriatric beds,
life got fed up and broke their legs and fled,
abandoned them to grim faced nurses' aides
in realms of commodes and walking frames.

Poor Sleeping Beauties, their fun is at an end,
no prince is on his way to rescue them.
Princes have more to think about than this,
than waking up old ravers with a kiss.

Published, 2000, in Books Ireland, September issue