Peter Austin
Virgins
In that zealot’s hideout, heaven
(As we know, since Nine-Eleven),
Eager virgins — ten times seven —
Pay each energumen’s worth,
Hence the lamentable dearth
Of the still intact on Earth.
Shell
How can you be both
This womb-like, flesh-pink chamber, where
The palpitating, tender growth,
Safe from inquietude of sea and air,
Eagle’s claw and gannet’s beak
Draws unmolested breath,
And that cold, hard, metallic thing, whose shriek
Spells mayhem, madness, death?
Unnatural
Daddy orangutan studied his bone
Like it was someone he ought to have known.
Baby, imbibing a leisurely treat,
Fondled his mamma’s unoccupied teat.
Sister one-handedly dangled aloft,
Piddling on brother, who blissfully quaffed.
Folk, wearing fox furs and nose rings and scent,
Muttered, “unnatural!” shuddered and went.
Peter Austin lives with his wife and three daughters in Toronto, where he teaches English at Seneca College. Over ninety of his poems have been published, in the USA, Canada, the UK and several other countries. As well as poetry, he writes plays, and his musical adaptation of The Wind in the Willows has enjoyed four productions, the most recent in Worcester, Massachusetts.
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