Nithoggr

There is a snake beneath the tree
twined into the roots
coil against coil
jaw against jaw
it writhes and it bites and it bites
one day it will gnaw clean through
bring trunk and branch and worlds creaking down

The street is quiet
the hum of cars, buses, bikes
afternoon sunlight glints off glass
a woman in a suit makes for the station
newspaper under her arm

The black tide that boils just beneath
has not yet hissed up through the tarmac
the bitter fountain has not yet spat down
fury and acid on the passers by
the office blocks
have not yet screamed apart in hot shards and splinters
the sky has not yet swum free, unhitched

When I cross the hall tonight
you will not yet greet me with a pinched brow and a silence that bears teeth

There is a snake beneath the tree
it is blind and patient and it does not stop
its time is coming

Crying Pants Day

Hwaet!
Legend tells of the day
The one day in the this lonely globe’s journey
This earth-sphere’s pilgrimage
In its quest for the memory of its creator in the heavens
When the pants stir from the depths
The shrithing dark
Of the closet

Lowly they creep,
Away from that generous guardian of sweaters
Sock-ward and shirt-giver
Shunning their rightful home
In the sweet warm dark of their lord
Adorned with skirt and garter,
One leg at a time

They remember a day
Long ages back
When they were favoured above all hosiery
Where is the trouser press now?
Where the belt?
Forlorn they contemplate their doom

They sit on the kitchen counter and they weep
Tears of bright fabric softener
Course a lonely journey to that dread linoleum
That will receive us all

Beware, traveller!
Do not let their tears prise out your pity
Do not stretch out your hand
Adorned with ring and Rolex
Or you will find yourself choked
By dire leg-sleeves
The flesh-turret of your throat crumbling
Forsaken in the eyes of God
Trousered
And left without a leg to stand on