WPN is hopping South over the border this week to share with you three poems from C. S. Fuqua from Las Cruces, New Mexico. At once both visual and conversational, these pieces leave a lasting image on the mind.
The old man’s on the bank,
rifle ready to pluck off any head
foolish enough to break surface.
I don’t believe a word of it,
All this about the world heating up—
Just normal cycle of things.
It’s all happened before.
Read the bible and you’ll see.
He spits, scans the water.
I ask him about the frogs
that glutted this pond
when I was a boy.
Just faded away, he says.
Probably farm poisons.
He’s silent for several long moments.
Finally, he clears his throat, says,
If this old world’s warming,
then it’s the fault of science.
That’s what gave us the means,
and that’s what can give us the remedy.
Water stirs, and a turtle’s head rises.
The old man levels the rifle, fires,
and the head explodes.
I ask, Why’d he surface?
Faith or calculated risk?
The old man chuckles,
still scanning the pond’s surface.
Damn thing was just stupid.