The Sins Against The Elephants

somewhere though no one could point to it on a map
the ghost of someone remembers
the sins against the elephants

where ghost children play
or with sacks full of jaw breakers
spend the eternal day

throwing pebbles

rippling the circus of Time
someone hears a trumpeting trampling
the scatter shot applause

the oohs and ahs
someone remembers under a tawny
and tempestuous tent flap flung wide revealing

its own rude universe
the elephant tired at the end of its tether
enough to make the angels cry. the elephant kneeling

as though in prayer; the whip lash and the trembling hide.

someone witnessed the sins against the elephants
imagination spurred this way the grey stampede of rain clouds
and forked lightning

the glitter for a moment...dissolve and fade;

and then they went away trundling softly swaying
to farther fields no longer boxcar bound
and garlands of flowers flung about their necks

and they were happy then;sweet recompense was theirs
yet in the tall grasses in the train yards where their small town griefs were sown

amid the deceit of sawdust and over painted clowns

in the tall grasses combed over the tracks of ghost towns bearing the mournful regal sounds
audio ambient upon the air the kind and gracious sounds they made for little children in the great parades or the turning around and around

wounds the spectacle forever and ever 

so plaintivly...


when ghosts of the children we may have been then or some of our kin
chew on peppermints and remember when

counting between slow tears; oh for years and years
the sins against the elephants
who loved us.

mary angela douglas 13 january 2020