Mechanical Fiction #4
Allegory clamors horn-toed in the mud, a pig.
Shelf by shelf in the big window rebuilt
his life’s work, carburetors, divertissement;
he had said, “If you always turn off the machine
you keep your fingers.”
Throttle plate, undulant shapes, iron, an expanse of brown
in the trough and the sudden intake of air
up throat & snout, at the big window.
Intake & orifice, expulsions of air & vapor jet thru choke
circuit combustion a process of hoof & horn,
the difference between pig and swine.
Not good with a broom, she turns a pilot screw or two,
swept into an awkward stance,
broomhandle bangs counter, cracks doorjamb
keeps carburetors clean, lift with two hands.
One morning in the big window a pig, pink flecks
play the valves
inflect mechanism and iron,
the not negligible height of building, a window open
on the third floor sucks air, combustion, explodes.
Hoof trailing thigh, whiskbroom.
Cobwebs in the big window; “If you turn off