by Rohan Buettel
A water buffalo, thick hide,
large horns, dangerous when threatened,
but tractable in harness,
pulls the plough
through wet paddies,
like everyone.
Called to an office dominated by his bulk,
you’re told you will not
be given an interview
for a job, the next step
which you know you could do
better than most.
While attempting to convince you
to placidly rejoin the mob
he oversteps, his weight
fixing you against the wall
leaving you gasping,
torso broken.
Bisons of metal and glass
migrate across the plain,
converge each morning. A raven,
oblivious to what hurtles past,
strips the carcass of a kangaroo
crushed and knocked aside.
About the Author:
Rohan Buettel lives in Canberra, Australia. His haiku appear in Australian and international journals (including Presence, Cattails and The Heron’s Nest). His longer poetry appears in various journals, including Rattle, The Goodlife Review, Meanjin, Meniscus and Quadrant.