Wild Animals

Laurie
Wild animals
Starbucks, June 18, 2007

Wild animals do a better job of making beds, sweeten the air with musk shot from under their tails, snap the sheet so tight you could bounce a quarter off it They don't doubt fur, hunts, or nests They are better at drinking, saunter back as light milks the sky, flatten themselves into soft bones and slither under the gate, fall asleep on a mat, although they would like to piss on the flower-patterned carpet of a hotel They do a better job of biting Babies flutter, powdery before their ferocity They do a better job of eating out, snap bones to suck, crunch them to slivers, massage their gums, separate little necks from pearly shells They are better at tenderness, catch the curve of a cheek and downy hairs, run sandpaper tongues along the stem, up the shaft, through the lattice, gobble the lettuce They respect a bee, duck when it dive-bombs, sneak into movies, slink down in the front row and watch the dawn of the planet to strains of Richard Strauss They own everything except noise, love their teeth and meat and heat and calm Don't wear down in worry, don't know about dying from dreams, don't imagine a world without their blood turning the Earth They do a better job of watching TV, earning a place on the chessboard, the ladder, the table, the dock, waving white hankies as ships sail Waving wildly as they float to a place that has never been seen and tumble like a stone back to shore