Visceral grunt, sour-sharp stink
arrest school parties here.

More bear than pig
he roots the dead bark
of his fenced pen
round and about, about, about
impatient, following the satellite dish
of his nose.

He raises his enormous, bristling face
and peers shortly
through tiny slit-shut eyes;
then busies himself again
muttering and mumbling angrily
among coke cans and crisp packets.

In dreams
he is bold in his lair
swerving at bay
to scatter scraps of dogs, yelping
tusked to the bone.

Once
by flaring torchlight
in a cavern in the Dordogne
they blazed him out in ochre
burnt red beside aurochs and mammoth;
one of the gods of the place.

VELVET CRIMINAL
By Hilary Vance

Her silhouette ponders for a
moment.
Lightening splash, silk spray,
fast flash of rainbow scales.
She flips and turns, paws printing
the stones, smoothes the air with a
tail-twitch. Fish flaps, ripples reside.
Summery breezes lead to the fields.
Soft eyes wait.
Suddenly she springs. Many times,
struggles and shakes.

The last to return, through
the open window, velvet,
golden-eyed, purrs under a
stroking hand and curls into a
tight ball. Sleeps into oblivion.
Guiltless, always forgiven.