Adorn the Laurel Elisabeth Horan
Listen to the first and last time I will write about myself-
My nose was broken and my paws wind-chiseled My days of glory ended with Moses’ crossing of a line
I want to walk in Africa no more beholden to Khafre plateaued in platitude
I could hunt up some Thompson’ s pant by a river lick my sisters
I will never taste water nor walk in a garden I am only sandstone eroding
I long to shed my headdress for I am not Cleopatra Taylor’ s moss-green eyes- in Egypt? My darling Antony, neither are you Burton.
But it doesn’ t really matter I have no claws and my country is killing itself- fighting wars on camels
Tutankhamun knew and I’ ll be kind enough to share with you- what it takes to be an idol; to adorn the laurels-
Persistent, lonely centuries. And those who come to worship