Piker Press — Weekly Journal of Arts and Literature
April 27, 2026

Deficit

"I watch the little newts..."

Deficit

I watch the little newts
that seem to know
one speed—to scurry,
as they flee beneath the porch.

I watched one lose its tail
to a dog’s paw and never stop running
into cranny and dark shelter,
leaving the dog mystified.

Nature’s gift to us—a tail
to grab, yet the body gets away,
a revelation, once,
then taken, obscured.







More by Jeff Burt → More poetry → Full issue →
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