the elephants are marching again.
they create traffic on the street,
drivers flail their arms in the air,
cursing the elephants
about how big they are.
the elephants trample a little one
the little one’s tongue sticks out,
his mangled body hugs the ground
and his bugged-out eyes tell a story
no one wants to know.
a clever one proposes we tame them
we can ride them to work, to church,
to coffee shops, ice cream parlors,
sweatshops, and red-light districts.
the town nods in agreement.
the town captures a baby one,
its skin does not feel like wire brush
and its tusks are still endearing
the clever one talks softly to the baby
and places some peanuts on the ground.
the baby one inspects the peanuts
and finding them favorable,
eats them noiselessly. the town
cheers in delight as the baby one
nimbly fingers each one before eating.
yet, the baby one keeps marching.
the legs persist in making that motion,
while sleeping, while shitting, while sexing,
the elephants are always marching.
peanuts only stop them momentarily.
the town orders air strikes,
a sunny forecast with a heavy shower
of peanuts, the town is to prepare
accordingly for this weather—
preferably by staying indoors.
and we will splice the peanuts
with a benzodiazepine,
and then we can control their
movements, and the town
will then be saved.
the elephants do stop and eat them
but their legs start moving in reverse,
all across town, in straight lines
through alleyways and street corners
and they march backwards.
the elephants are marching again,
the town runs out of peanuts,
the clever one runs out of ideas,
the baby one runs out of town
and they keep marching.
oberdada
raydirector
choreanz
dismouin
