QUINK Poem by Richard Kenney

1

Sick of ink (a professional worder)
I went into the biosphere
With two botanizers, a birder,
And a Leave‑No‑Trace‑Trained mountaineer.

We witnessed the sacred in several classes.
They showed me how elevations flatten
On a topo map. Through fine field glasses
We confirmed a quantity of Latin.

2

Idle by nature, sick of talk,
I went into the somewhat wild
With an undifferentiated dog,
An apple, a gum wrapper, and a six year old.

The crags scratched our eyeballs. A brace of Quink
Came burtling out of their whiskets. Old Breather
Whulphed. It wasn't what you think,
Exactly. I guess you had to be there.