After the Sunday Documentary -------------------------------------------
The sloth swung smiling into the grey hawks nest
Its baby limbs were slack and waving
For the hungry chick and tempered wife
Who would not let the hunter rest .
And both our hearts were torn away
When its twisting body was hurling
Into its helpless end; all our eyes upturning
From our indignation.
I always explain the necessity of each witnessed death.
But why, when they dream of marriage, are we suffused
To that ultimate oblivion?
Why is my future married to death?
I know, if I had of returned to look in mid-air,
That sloth had no sense of its own pain,
Was not receptive to its end.
He did not endure like a dying prisoner
That descent into the ailing bed
Of little chick and mother hawk
To relieve them of their hungry tension
No afterlife for baby sloth; no mystified ascension
Interesting exploration, a lot of questions raised with this poem.
I like the alliteration of your first line and the way you start with quite a different atmosphere then you finish with- with a smiling sloth who has no idea what is around the next bending moment. It is full of life, that first line.
I also like the authoritative tone that you use in the poem. I don't necessarily agree with all that's said here, but that tone lends gravity to the words making me feel I must consider them all fairly, putting my own preconceptions aside.
I love this line, and all that it raises in terms of thoughts and questions about the human condition, which does ultimately end the same way for us all:
Submission Name: After the Sunday Documentary
