HOW DO YOU EAT AN ELEPHANT?
Surprise on Monday,
chewing glass and spitting blood
into the trash can.
Surprise, it’s not construction
but a small brown pony
looking like a stuffed toy,
broken, bloated in the sun,
at the edge of the front loader.
About to be cleared away
from drivers in metal cars
who don’t know if Amish children
in cobalt blue and coral
were cleared away earlier.
We drive on.
Hot leather bites bare legs
on the car seat.
Summer sets in, and sinks its teeth.
We remember the days of grief,
passions congealed, but reversible
by new offense, by fresh blood.
By the next evidence
of injustice.
There never was an innocent time
in our remembrance. Gardens are always
eager with their weeds. And the lettuce bolts
too soon. We look back and ask
whether we did anything good, or only made ourselves
impatient, and older. Hair unkempt, and pimples
in obvious places.
ONE BITE AT A TIME.
Devilish nymphs of lantern flies
suck the stems of anything green.
We try to smash them. We embarrass ourselves
in the attempt. One in four is too slow,
so we keep trying.
We chew the broken glass
mixed in the jar of salsa.
We spit beet juice and blood
into the porcelain sink.
We worry about our insides,
waiting to see what the damage will be
in the end of things.
There never was an innocent time
since we drew breath. It is almost
as if we asked for this. Building our webs
so slyly we forget which threads
are viscous. Prey to our own devices.
Shocked at the harm we do,
when all we’ve done is live
- like everyone else -
we use phones,
we drive cars.
Children shouldn’t be
on the highway with horses.
It really is a shame.
But this is what you get.
No use pretending
it’s the old days.
A moment of silence
to think about your feed,
and move on.
Pretty soon the elephants
will be extinct anyway;
all these rescues are corrupt.
Be glad you lived
in a day when you could witness greatness,
visit the zoo, breathe.
The water in a few places was still clean
enough to swim in, to feel light.
Frame this vista
and keep it for yourself,
to look at
and feel lonely in later,
when you forget the sticky crowds
and only see the blue, those hills,
not in memory, but in pixels.
Someone someday will earn your trust,
and you will show them your ivory tusk,
purchased at a steep price on the black market.
An investment,
because someday the elephants will all be extinct
and someone will need proof
they existed.
