July 2017
Robbi Nester
rknester@gmail.com
rknester@gmail.com
I am a transplant from Philadelphia, PA and retired college educator who has become part of the thriving poetry community of Southern California, which includes some of our fellow VVers. I keep myself busy writing, doing open mics and other readings as often as possible, practicing yoga, and enjoying the gorgeous climate in this area. In the age of Trump, I have joined with others to create a community of resistance.
Author's Note: Here is a poem from my new book, Other-Wise (Kelsay Books). This pet store actually existed. It was located in Western Massachusetts, where Richard was in an MFA program, many years ago. The binturong was a sort of mascot.
Binturong
Penned in a pet store cage
so small he had no room
to turn around,
the binturong glowered—
bear cat, South Asian
resident of forests,
small time scavenger,
living on rodents and snails.
He seemed all burning eyes
and white incisors,
the incarnation of aggression,
curved claws as shiny
as the knobs on braided loaves,
as sharp as raptors’ beaks.
His odor, not unlike the smell
of ripe socks in a gym,
rose in musky waves
above the heating vents,
assailed all visitors.
Not an appealing creature,
with his bristling whiskers,
coarse coat, sharp active snout,
something like a cross
between a badger and a cat—
long body, powerful short legs.
Yet for this pet-store owner,
the animal drew crowds,
mostly adolescents,
who poked at the mesh
and made faces,
as though savagery itself
were locked away
behind the flimsy wire.
Regardless of appearance,
binturongs are shy, reclusive.
This one snapped and snarled,
thrilling teenage girls.
The proprietor obliged,
throwing shreds of bloody
beef into the cage.
How shrewd
that pet store owner,
how cynical, to illustrate
the human animal
for what it was.
Binturong
Penned in a pet store cage
so small he had no room
to turn around,
the binturong glowered—
bear cat, South Asian
resident of forests,
small time scavenger,
living on rodents and snails.
He seemed all burning eyes
and white incisors,
the incarnation of aggression,
curved claws as shiny
as the knobs on braided loaves,
as sharp as raptors’ beaks.
His odor, not unlike the smell
of ripe socks in a gym,
rose in musky waves
above the heating vents,
assailed all visitors.
Not an appealing creature,
with his bristling whiskers,
coarse coat, sharp active snout,
something like a cross
between a badger and a cat—
long body, powerful short legs.
Yet for this pet-store owner,
the animal drew crowds,
mostly adolescents,
who poked at the mesh
and made faces,
as though savagery itself
were locked away
behind the flimsy wire.
Regardless of appearance,
binturongs are shy, reclusive.
This one snapped and snarled,
thrilling teenage girls.
The proprietor obliged,
throwing shreds of bloody
beef into the cage.
How shrewd
that pet store owner,
how cynical, to illustrate
the human animal
for what it was.
© 2017 Robbi Nester
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell him or her. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is the beginning of community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -FF