Dan, the Survivalist, John Grey

Duncan Moon, Artist in his Element



The rabbits around here
are tasty, he tells me,
and so are the frogs.

Snakes are slippery
but if you catch and cook one,
they make for a decent meal.
Like chicken, he adds,
but a little more reptilian.

Then he explains
the nutritional value
of tree bark,
the savory splendors
of leaves and weeds.
And as for the toadstools,
he reckons they’re out of this world.
Or out of my world
at least.

He is one of those
unpaid-up members
of the “God provides” brigade.
For the right providee of course.

Plunk me down
anywhere in the wilderness,
he declares,
and I’ll survive.

And here’s me struggling
to make ends meet
with a crap job, an ancient car.
and a small apartment.
Maybe mine
is the true wilderness.

I don’t mention
that of course.
He might cancel
my pranayama lessons.

John Grey


Review by Laurinda Lind

I love the last two lines of Stanza 6 (“Maybe mine/ is the true wilderness”) and thought it was the end of the poem as I was scrolling down. I was surprised to see Stanza 7 (the final one) roll up after that—it added another wrinkle to the poem, but I haven’t caught up to it yet.

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