Stalkers

FAY MARSHALL

 

The first

is a handsome brute;

orange-striped, flame-eyed,

crouched to spring.

 

There is a crackle of twigs

in drought-dry scrubland,

a low growl, hiss and splutter,

sudden bound across the clearing;

      it swoops from tree-top to tree-top,

hurdles roads, blazes across horizons,

      ravager, turning

forest to ash, cropland to desert

lake to arid plain;

      its sultry breath

dries dying seas.

 

The other stalker

is more insidious.

 

It sleeks beneath sills in serpentine coils,

undermines, drop by slow drop,

fragile foundations;

inches up imperceptibly,

sinks islands,

swamps cities,

swallows shores;

 

and can erupt in fury

in huge surges, trailing wrecks

like skeletons 

of lost cause

 

Third Prize winner, Build Africa Poetry Competition 2012