Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
Elephant's Graveyard III
Sanctified by elephants since time began-
elephants who accept their end uncomplainingly
with relief and nary a snivel
having long ago made it a point to live their lives well
and confident of this just repose.
'Oh, my God, ' you think, 'all the ivory.'
Ivory laying about, half-sunk, everywhere
strewn, grass-entangled, trip-you-up ivory,
because that's what's left of an elephant, after a bit-
after a century or so, that's quite all that's left,
a tusk of ivory bearing in this respect
a sharp resemblance to a man's poetic toil
or the opera-ticket stub found in his breast pocket
by his grand-child, rummaging in the attic
a century after the time when the music stopped
and stopped forever, never to again resume;
toppled stalagmites of ivory, some taller than a man,
cracked by the sun, washed by the rain, buffed by the moon.
Surely, someone would buy all that ivory for market
dice to make, dominoes, piano keys, dentures;
But how to get it home-would Swiss-Air take it?
stowed in sheaths...
poem
by
Morgan Michaels
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black