Tribal
Hey, don’t say you love my work.
I know where these discussions
tend to go, and so do you:
back to my place where we
grill giraffe steaks, maybe
open a Zimbabwean merlot.
Then you, perched on a djembe
drum, watch me wax my double-
barreled elephant gun
until it gleams like a bad symbol.
Then some recorded swallow song,
and the next day you’re gone.