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Three poems Poetry |
The Oldest Human Structure
--in Olduvai Gorge
Is a circle of broken stones,
and no one can say for sure
this is the groundwork
of the first family shelter
where they huddled close to each other
night after night in hunger
and the naked fear of hunters
or whether hunters themselves
shouted and danced here
and feasted once or more
before moving away
to another stony circle
and another and then dying
and being born again
before dying again. Yet each
of these stones is light enough
to be lifted, to be carried
by two hands and put down
heavily by one human,
maybe some frightened dreamer
who didn’t know why he’d dreamed
of putting these shapes together
there in a strange new order
that would endure forever.
An Introduction to Taxidermy
The Latin roots of your craft
mean simply Rearrangements
of Skin, so the optimum posture
of your game animal
should be to recreate
what nerves (now missing) knew
that we can only suppose:
how muscle and bones and sinews
(now mostly gone) can change
the shape of a living creature
in an instant. Your customer
and all his later admirers
should believe those glassy eyes
staring at them are focused
on a choice about to be made
in the wild to swivel backwards
and disappear through high grass
and shadows, to still be alive
and turned by light and leaves
and you to a resurrection
poised now behind glass.
Your aim should be the hunter’s:
to be unnoticeable,
to be forgotten about.
Two Lessons in the Manly Art of Self-defense
Lesson Two is to stand as tall
as you hoped you’d be someday.
It’s what good MC’s do
to their shaky selves backstage
before they go striding out
impersonally in person
in charge of you and yours
and all forthcoming events.
You do this standing still
in what you’re certain must be
the safest place on earth
and yours alone. You stare
steadily, directly,
narrowly right between
the eyes of this odd Someone
or Other who thinks he has
your number in his fist.
And Lesson One is to take
an antihistamine
beforehand to control
your allergies to flowers.