Monday, April 18, 2005

Jen 12!

Least I'm Not

a donkey
hauling heavy sacks
around a Bolivian tin mine.

Even boiling water's hard
in the Andes. Everything's hard
for a donkey--men know few

colors outside the red
of their own pain--my gut
says they'll beat me to death,

first blind me with a whip
but in the black mine shaft,
the joke (and there's a joke)

will be on them after my body's
carried off by five giant parrots,
each sewn of such vivid hues, to set eyes

in the light on them might save a man
from drowning--in silver
dust or some dumb animal's blood.

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