By Gary David Johnson
THE WOOLY MAMMOTH
A mammoth hair. I bought a mammoth hair.
I don’t know why I love it, but I do.
I stare at it at night within my chair
and wonder that I’m one of very few
who think it rare, at least enough to spend
good money for something that almost no
guest finds impressive, not enough to send
a letter back to Mom to let her know.
Like me, some other people have been lost:
They clutch their relics, certain in their mind
that they have found the truth left (in the dust,
the evidence of God, perhaps?) behind.
I won’t begrudge their simple faith and trust:
Those beasts are gone, and they have left us blind.
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THE CONE - ISSUE #9 - SPRING 2016