Come our one great bushfire
pigs, sty-released, declined to quit
their pavements of gravel and shit.
Other beasts ran headlong, whipping
off with genitals pinched high.
Human mothers taught their infants creek-dipping.
Fathers galloped, gale-blown blaze stripping
grass at their heels and on by
too swift to ignite any houses.
One horse baked in a tin shed,
naked poultry lay about dead
having been plucked in mid flight
but where pigs had been legion
only fuzzy white hoofprints crowded
upwind over black, B B B
and none stayed feral in our region.
—Les Murray
Letter to a Young Bishop
Your Excellency, I’m writing only because you asked. I have so far successfully avoided the role of…
Necessary Societies
On the Dignity of Society:Catholic Social Teaching and Natural Lawby f. russell hittinger,edited by scott j. ronigercatholic…
Biden Is the New Francis
Early in 2016, articles began to appear noting similarities between Pope Francis and Donald Trump. Trump’s promise…