AFTER WE’VE GONE

by February 1, 2012 0 comments

Heat shakes the still resistant air.
In shy silos, thorn trees stand guard.
The sun cruises. Noon dust
Clouds argument in the lion’s throat.
Dewlaps of blood dry-clean
Inaudible protest.
The cheetah coils
To a sprung escapement.
His shrunken head rolls below,
Barely keeping abreast,
Of the following
Hump of his shoulder. Casually
He puts the menu down
And orders lunch, does not complain
At the service.
On the stroke of sundown,
The dark shadow
Of an elephant’s face
Vegetates. Antelope parade
Their banners, their ears
Unfurl. Surely they vanish.
The dusk, uncertain, returns.

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