Shaggy Elephant Story

I waited forever outside the courthouse
while they discussed the future
of Rose-Tu's baby. Would she be sold
to some cut-rate Ringling Brothers,
billed as the pachyderm Lolita, tricked out
in pink satin and spangles? Spoiled, sulking, pouting
elephant debutante, baby pageant princess? God forbid.

Better she should stay at home. Conifers in winter
smell sweeter than sawdust and sweat
under the Big Top. Better her feet
should learn the West Hills rocks
than taste macadam in every one of the fifty contiguous states.

Lily, honeybunch,
you might dream of the spotlight. But show-biz is a hard life.
You never get to unpack
your trunk.

--word salad
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