Mule

I am becoming you; inhabitable lorry
On shuddering wheels. I pull you through
Rajasthan, pull you through Dar Es Salaam.

You feed me
from your hand; raw grains, coagulated honey.

And say you love this. Your big body
in the carriage, my form bent

and pulling. And you say one day
not so far off, when I have weakened
you will pull me.

We will arrive. We will arrive in places that are
inhospitable. We will descend. We will
be beggars without bowls for alms, without
waxed takeout cups.

We will be jaded by then.
We will be the same sad flesh.

Copyright © 2007 Kaya Oakes All rights reserved
from Telegraph
Pavement Saw
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission