ROBBIE Q TELFER

MY BETTER HALF

There’s a way to distinguish

the kinds of soils you have

into what is essentially the soil’s

species. The species of a soil

is called its series and

the USDA recognizes 20,000

different series that stitch the

country to itself, a dirt quilt

draping the bedrock shoulders

of a planet trying to resist

itching the nits infesting its

threadbare blanket out of

existence.

A heron sticks its beak

under rocks to discover

what its next meal will be

many a bee can build their

house underground

in earthen furrows

weasels could be candidates

for president of cutest

murderers in burrows

branch just a root wannabe

cancel out the negative

space created by lit air

where rich dark browns could be.

10,000 years ago this place

was under ice a mile thick

that slowly shrank northward

scouring Illinois into a mostly

flat pancake Lincoln land

prairie state so ripe for

farmland its habitats

practically begged to be

displaced, black earth

so valuable a different

glacier came through

and wiped the surface

clean.

When soil is waterlogged

for too long, it can turn gray

the color change from

prolonged wet is called gleying

the gray soil’s been gleyed

the gray gley

shirt of dirt needs to be

rinsed out and dried

resewn and dyed

a new design of microbes

applied.

Under blanket

under shirt

under rock and rock

and rock

molten heart

lava-logged

lightless sun

beats and beats

impossible price

beacon sheathed

what time is it

when the sundial’s

shadow is also

our whole and

only home

when the 20,000 towers

keeping ships safe

are bulbless

tectonic

full of basements

gemstones

caves

and roly polies

when all we need is

buried

alive

CARCINISATION

There’s a crab species where

rival males will scuttle up

hold their one big claw next to the other’s

and the crab whose claw is smaller

lets the winner cut it off

only big claw crabs get to smash

come back when you grow a larger arm

crustaceans invented the big dick olympics

crabs have two tiny dicks though

called gonopods and they also engage in

pre-coital hugging that can last for days

before they actually get down to the clatterclatter

after my daughter was born I was given

a pamphlet of FAQs for new fathers

one Q that was FA said:

What’s the point of cuddling if it doesn’t lead to anything?

five different groups of ancient crustaceans

have evolved into crab shapes

from different things that didn’t look like crabs

this is called carcinisation and it is proof

that crabs are the ideal by which all else

should strive. We are all slouching towards

Crablehem, our genes begging to be

free of this fleshy clawless life corpse

whispering to our progeny to be a little more

decapodsy, imperceptibly crabbier every generation

if ancient peoples were to travel to us

they would say “who are you crab monsters!”

before time traveling 5.5 billion years into

the sun and as they go they would watch

all species slowly squat down, claw up,

crabgiraffes and crabfrogs and crabweasels

and crabkoalas and crabbeetles and crabcrabapples and

crabpumpkins and crabpirates and crabcrabs.

THE LOOP

A fly just boarded

at Rockwell

Moth got on

at Belmont

Fly got off

at Chicago and State

me too

Planters on the eighth

floor of the parking garage

whistle with crickets

did they take the elevator

or spend the summer

chirp-hopping

up the ramps

dodging Dodges

because they knew, somehow,

that better lives

ascend

how long will it take for these

high-rise window ledge spiders

to evolve into a distinct species

and what version of us will be here

when they do

Robbie Q Telfer has performed and taught in hundreds of places in nine different countries. His work appears in many publications, he's been an
individual finalist at the National Poetry Slam, and has a poetry collection from Write Bloody Publishing. He lives in Chicago where he’s the
Program Director for Friends of Illinois Nature Preserves, trying to protect and celebrate what's left of our wild spaces.

IG: @RobbieQT and Substack robbieqtelfer.substack.com