bird doggin' classic / savvy

Two poems about being broke and shooting skeet from dalton derkson

Discordia does not, it turns out, hate everything. Every other week, we share a piece of new or gently-used work from an artist who's earned our respect.

There is art that moves us, and there is art that moves with us. This is Fellow Travellers.

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bird doggin’ classic

sickenedsour from sniffing 	2-
	stroke in machine shops
run by drunks in		
	some place called goodwater.
some place better than water.
		w h i s k e y.		
	nd homemade, no less. nd piss 
warm nd concocted with a sole purpose:
			to pickle liver.
			to unsee straight. 
			too damn easy, 
			you ask me.
like, fuck fish in barrels. 		this
is shooting skeet		with full-
choked shot,		dotting the valley
	lead epistolary:
a blasting letterhead unattainable
by animals nd inanimates who only
	figure out how to explode
once it's too late.		their minds thick
like plumage.		thick like thinking
it's smarter to store bags of rocks in
	yr throat than to evolve
into teeth nd chew.
				so i suppose
that'll make us modified.
		improved modified.
			improved cylinder, un-
chokeable. un-		closeable nd un-
aware of where all that water
came from this summer		but un-
derstanding it's change, so there's nothing
more to know			than what is sifted
			into saying thru conversation.
for example:
	biologists know plenty
	abt how the body reacts
	to a cocktail of chemicals
		but we'll tell you from experience 
that it takes approx. 2 nd a half bags		
of rat poison to fully rupture a raccoon's insides.
		 we've understood 
that the adjustments to the skies	come from
	the philipped heads of starry-
					skyscrapers
nd that you'll need hubblehuge eyes…
to find all divots the world sprayed that small.

savvy

the collections agency spins
	'if i had 1 million dollars'
on their hold line radio & i mean,
talk about your 	SALTED KNIFE.
talk about your
		CAUTERIZED BURN.
i've seen better tempered
flagrancies in teenagers walking
	afternoon streets like they own 'em —
but why shouldn't they?
	& why couldn't they?
			
		not like they'll own
	much else in coming days
& they're not about to start getting geriatric 
			references to dijon ketchups
& anti-green-couch-murder campaigns —
		why not let 'em lenny
			for a while?
		let 'em hold & strangle 
	their own lil' something for a change.

			((but that's the problem))

no one actually  KILLS anything these days.
		they beat it
til it's pulp & air its dirty laundry 
	in the 	public square
	then, 	treated as a cat toy,
	let it walk away complacently,
				contemporarily.

			look, it's all over the news. 
		like, did you know:
the latest business reports say culling the poor
would be a booming industry if not for the dismal ROI
& the lugubrious start up fees?		no, better suited 
to keep sellin' it to 'em on the installment plan:

		~*WHAT A LAYAWAY TO GO!*~

	hey, it's just a few easy payments.
		hey, it's just a cup of coffee a day, 
			every single week
			of every single year 
	but it will include FREE eventual delivery.
			
			i mean, come on.
even the shrewdest of millionaires takes that deal…

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dalton derkson is a poet & radio host residing on the traditional territory of the Snuneymuxw First Nation. His work has been published by BAD DOG MAG, Book*hug Press & more. He is a co-host of Into The Void on 101.7 CHLY-FM.

Interested in being a Fellow Traveller? Email your poetry, prose, visual art, etc. to discordia.sucks@gmail.com. We pay (not much), and pieces are collected a few times a year in a small print edition.

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