R
Robert Harrison
Guest
Symbolism (Two stories in one)
I tired to sleep, but the thud of ripened Mangos dropping to the ground
Like the thump of an unexploded bomb kept me awake.
The Flying Foxes were out in force, circling the sky like Stukas searching
For a target, and finding one, argue as to who will make the first kill.
Screeched message of fox like the crackling message of pilot cross the air waves,
“Leave them, there’re mine”
.
Then comes the peck, peck, zzzip, zzzip of their bullet like teeth until their target is destroyed.
Falling, a jellied mass, an empty skin that once was living. Falling onto the roof
Or rolling into the gutter, there to lie rotting, infested with flies and their offspring
Until picked up by sickened gatherers, to be buried with lime or composted, food for worms.
Nets, like air raid shelters cover the innocent fruit, but the gliding and diving seekers always
Get through, tearing, and hammering, bang; bang banging away with swift attack,
Breaking down the defenses until the orchard of streets is destroyed, leaving the bewildered
To wander in dazed dejection at the destruction. Their metroorchard, the fruit of their loins
And of their hands destroyed in many such frenzied attacks.
It is not the last they will see of these hungry destructive forces, they will be back,
The night always brings them back, until there is, nothing to devour, nothing to destroy.
The season of destruction will soon be over, some will survive to rebuild to replant,
To repair, and the fruits of their labor will see them through another season.
I tired to sleep, but the thud of ripened Mangos dropping to the ground
Like the thump of an unexploded bomb kept me awake.
The Flying Foxes were out in force, circling the sky like Stukas searching
For a target, and finding one, argue as to who will make the first kill.
Screeched message of fox like the crackling message of pilot cross the air waves,
“Leave them, there’re mine”
.
Then comes the peck, peck, zzzip, zzzip of their bullet like teeth until their target is destroyed.
Falling, a jellied mass, an empty skin that once was living. Falling onto the roof
Or rolling into the gutter, there to lie rotting, infested with flies and their offspring
Until picked up by sickened gatherers, to be buried with lime or composted, food for worms.
Nets, like air raid shelters cover the innocent fruit, but the gliding and diving seekers always
Get through, tearing, and hammering, bang; bang banging away with swift attack,
Breaking down the defenses until the orchard of streets is destroyed, leaving the bewildered
To wander in dazed dejection at the destruction. Their metroorchard, the fruit of their loins
And of their hands destroyed in many such frenzied attacks.
It is not the last they will see of these hungry destructive forces, they will be back,
The night always brings them back, until there is, nothing to devour, nothing to destroy.
The season of destruction will soon be over, some will survive to rebuild to replant,
To repair, and the fruits of their labor will see them through another season.
