Mark Bibbins posted 2 poems on The Awl in July 2011.

Treated to Refusal

Treated to Refusal

Creosote bled onto the sidewalk.
At a glance the telephone pole
was dissolving into its shadow.
But the edges weren’t clean
and the puddle wouldn’t ripple in the breeze.
The fir was sugared by steel climber teeth
and thousands of staples left behind
from flyers you posted with your
friends’ stupid words--they
disintegrate in holly bushes,
clog grates, line crows’ nests.
It’s dead for what looks like a long time.
Must have been this hot summer.

Two Crows One Stone

Two Crows One Stone

Nice thing about a slingshot

you don’t have to carry a clip.

A slingshot wants for accuracy

but there's lots of ammo lying around.

For a broken fledgling

and the parent guarding,

what went up came down.

All the shouting and swooping--

it’s not that they’re stupid--

an intelligent species like us--

they feel it helps.

Pawn

Pawn

I
A pawn of blond wood stained dark is easily stranded
in shadows of a book box kept by fear for last—
the shelves already full.  A pawn has one chance
to jump forward, claim the center, creating space
for others to attack or, sitting pretty, bait
a royal gambit.  In other end games the pawn
promoted, replaces the queen and mates.  It takes us
years to master his tears when every time I won.

II
Jack and I play over drinks—his orangina,
my red wine—awaiting mom and Libby.
His eyes on mine, I hold two pawns behind my back.
He taps the shoulder holding white.

III
Lit by windows facing dusk, a surgeon preps a
wound—extracting school work, baseball cards and useless
gamecube games.  Familiar fear shames me.  I clench
the board unfolding.  It is easy to sacrifice a pawn.
A Jeux Morize set includes a ninth white
because we can’t refinish a black pawn white.
I know what it takes to lose the missing piece.

IV
Love kills en passant.

V
Guilt stands alone
shame needs another.
One child dead
the other thriving.
It’s really too late now
to fix the broken clasp.
If we play again, they say,
it won’t be on this board.

barnacles

barnacles

sand ran with salt water
back and forth

sallow foam
tumbled down the estrogen enriched beach

over concrete blocks

and asphalt slabs stacked

like uncut gravestones

against the gasping ssri sea

breakwater

sessile in erosive setting

encrusting rebar
turn to chalk lose their name

awareness there
where the water ends each time

Sheep lay with Wolves

Sheep lay with Wolves

Who hasn’t tried making cheese

from pig’s milk or butter

from goat’s milk

as a shepherd barks

from a second story window 

down at passing bikes and cars?

I count them.

When brown tucks in, steps to the curb

and glances at the second story,

he thinks like every dog

this dog barks for him.

She wipes her gently lowing

gently rising belly clean.

Honey

Lots of low stumbling thunder

this morning waking up

I took my time

no milk

I knew that

but plain yogurt

and honey fat like raindrops

leading the squall line

never drizzled

never turning back

into last night’s rain.