IN THE RHYTHM OF THE BOUNCY WALK

where dirty children
eluding prayers blasted from loudspeakers
everywhere
sell plastic necklaces

we all smelled like camels

leathery men resembling the caravan
each one swaying from a high perch
in a ship of the desert
will gallop
pulling between nostrils with a sharp yank

trusting the three eyelids of their beasts
with their very blood

humps of fat rather than water
devouring nothing for months

thorn-eaters
with efficient respiration
cud and three-section stomach

how many days, how many weeks
camel milk, as a staple

a winged, rank-odor harrowing pariah

~*~

            “don’t worry, we use many animals
and give them rest:
they’re all well fed, believe me”

to pull a plow, to turn an irrigation wheel, to draw water

to comb the wool
serve the meat

when you’re finished

Poem copyright 2017 by Jnana Hodson
For more, click here.

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