Mammoth

The harvest of mammoth has begun. Verdant Siberia 
eats the meat; the tusks are carried to a warehouse 
in Moscow. The ivory trade saw the rise of 
civilization and will endure its fall.

A vulture luftwaffe racks the kempt neighborhoods 
of Kansas with its shadow

     and three mice died in the same spot of pantry 
floor three days running.

“They like to die together” you said and it's true 
the suicides take hands on bridge and cliff-face and 
it's other hands that string the noose.

                               Helpful, helpful dead.
But the living are recalcitrant.

     The owls are edging into day,
     each wing riding a transparent balloon.

     With the fields burnt of cover
     prey is too numerous to care for craft. 

“It's the little creatures taking over,” you said and 
so we go around scattering bread.