Two Poems

by Brandon Krieg Issue: Spring/Summer 2019

Western

The hunter with

amplifier

 

plays coyote

calls along

canyon walls.

 

Each loping

interloper on

owned land dropped is

 

50 dollars—

 

“50 dollars a pop”

you could say

and mean it

 

or anything,

it wouldn’t matter

to the popped dogs

 

rigored in

truck beds or

 

hanging

in DNR

freezers, their ears

 

that flicked

at faintest footfalls snipped

for samples,

 

meaning—managers

project—more

deer tags, more

 

temporary positions

stripping coyote

fur for

 

“rabbit-foot”

keychains.

Throwing Stones

Trucks salt the roads

Senators salt air

Where does salt go?

I asked a dry creek

It didn’t know

It answered dead flies

It answered dry wings

Dry thousand-facet eyes

What’s the meaning of this?

I asked, throwing stones

It echoed out Watchmaker!

Intricate! Intricate!

For all your not seeing

The better to not see you with



Brandon Krieg

Brandon Krieg is the author of In the Gorge (Codhill 2017) and Invasives (New Rivers Press 2019), a finalist for the 2015 ASLE Book Award in Environmental Creative Writing. He teaches at Kutztown University and lives in Kutztown, PA.