In Praise of Prey

By LESLIE MCGRATH

 

The rhythm of predation is a sine wave.

Between predator and prey it winds

 

like a whip-crack in slow motion.

The time has come to praise the prey

 

who fill the guts of the never-satisfied

for whom winning is all, and nothing.

 

Praise the squeak and the telling tremble.

Praise their begging and their shame.

 

Praise their jugular fullness, the sweet red pulse

the ever-open spigot of their submission.

 

Let go the lamentations. Let go the pity.

 

All hail the awkward and the addlebrained

the boneheaded, the broken-down, the bonkers.

 

All hail the cracked and the cuckoo

the lame, the lunatic, and the losers.

 

Here’s to the nutjobs, the spastic

the peculiar and the outcasts.

 

For them, the wedgie and the booby prize

the tar, the feathers and the narrow rail.

 

Tip your jaw and let praise fall for prey.

History is written on the vellum of their bellies.

 

 

Leslie McGrath is the author of Opulent Hunger, Opulent Rage, a poetry collection, and the forthcoming Out From the Pleiades: a picaresque novella in verse. 

Listen to Leslie McGrath and Valerie Duff discuss “In Praise of Prey” on our Contributors in Conversation podcast.

[Click here to purchase your copy of Issue 07]

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

In Praise of Prey

Related Posts

Feltspade

ELIAS SADAQ
I serve out my conscription / sleep in a bunk bed / for four cold months / in the engineer regiment at Skive Garrison / in a room with three other men / I fuck the colonel / the only sign that time is passing / is a pile of snow outside the window / that grows smaller

Book cover of Fifty Mothers

Mother is a Kind of Holding: Jenny Qi interviews Preeti Vangani

PREETI VANGANI
With vignettes, I could plumb its narrative arc to become a force propelling the book forward. It also felt haunting yet warm that the mothers kept reappearing throughout the life of this grief. That repetition created a chorus of voices that angers and despairs, yet cradles the speaker.

May 2026 Poetry Feature: Arielle Hebert, from Bottom Feeders

ARIELLE HEBERT
Home again at the water’s edge, / palms dancing in salt breeze. / I take a too-deep breath / and the air prickles my lungs / like an unfiltered cigarette. / Only the tourists are swimming, / coughing through the algal bloom, / eyes bloodshot and skin burning.