2 poems by Chris Kerr

    Bird Strike


    You know, the windmills, boom, boom, boom [mimicking windmill sound] bing [mimes shooting large gun], that’s the end of that one. If the birds don’t kill it first. The birds could kill it first. They kill so many birds.


    The albatross drops

    like a tress from the blade.

    The turbines stop

    at Turnberry.


    Trump’s on his knees at the Alba trough.

    It’s tough down the wind farm.

    The stationary cross

    lost an arm in an accident with itself.

    The air’s taking industrial action.

    Try firing chlorinated wrong bird at


    the lapsing of the lapwing

    from the ecosystem.

    The thighs are the wings of the lap

    from the cloaca

    though the left ankle’s broken.

    Species space isn’t gap,

    breezy dove tessellation

    over national borders.

    Nor is the state bird

    our bill of health.


    The lame duck orders

    thighs or breast to the green.

    Mr President, we need an albatross.


    Antarctic See


    McMurdo Station, the ol’ US glampsite,

    has thawed to a strip town:

    a skid for diggers of desert soil to spin

    in and out of.

    The population’s cultured

    from cult, to church,

    to people. Here is the steeple.


    Two lovers in light attire

    bundle down the breccia

    as if the continent wasn’t spent.

    Easy to forget having ordered the ice

    off the rocks.

    Relax. The glaciers were

    constipation’s sparkling diarrhoea beaker.

    Then the diarrhoea.


    The lovers hoe a

    vineyard, watched by the Swiss Guard.

    A scion goes in the rootstock

    in iron-red soil.

    Their graft won’t take. Shh

    the laugh is thinking

    it would’ve taken graft.

    Recycle harder:

    the voice of the Father.

    Never crossing fossil fuel scions

    with easy humanity.


    The view from the Papal satellite?

    The first Antarctic Cardinal’s zucchetto

    perpetually demoted

    from the white cap.

    __________________________


    Chris Kerr is from London and lives in Edinburgh. His first pamphlet, Citidyll, was published by Broken Sleep Books. His poems have appeared in Ambit, Adjacent Pineapple, Blackbox Manifold, Haverthorn, Oxford Poetry, The Literateur and the Sidekick Books Headbook Battalion. Chris tweets @c_c_kerr.