Poetry....by John Malan                   Contents PAGE    7                             Previous Page          Next Page



6 feet under

The leaves moved in the breeze
and the sunlight dappled
ivy growing under
the maple on the south
side of Monroe just east
of 2nd street and my
eye was drawn to shadow
spots that were not moving
and with an electric
shock of fear I saw a
leopard. It was real fear,
not the dull banal dread
you feel when you think you've
lost the job you've only
been doing for the pay
even though the house will
go in a month and the
wife & kids 2 or 3
weeks before and after
that what? Living on the
street? No this was primal,
what we were wired for, the
real thing, life and death at
the jaws of a living
beast that wants to eat the
flesh we call our self. Then
a fly landed on its
nose and nothing happened.
I saw it was dying.
Tried to change its spots, I
guess, and it succeeded.