Summer 1992 • Vol. XIV No. 3 PoetryJuly 1, 1992 |

The Blood Abroad

When Red Buttons     was gored by a rhino in Hatari he bled deep into my memory and lives there with Wayne giant red roots out of his arm Wayne about to step out to finish the hunt and further my lesson in the primary color of blood the dragon with long arms who broomed us bloody into rooms the servant boy who wrapped a rat in a parcel bow-tied under his sarong Granny twisting a chicken's neck in her coop I loved the dripping of that bird's life that rich red vegetable-fed stream that I longed to drink as I did Jesus and lime-green sodas at Fountain Café after deviled prawns I walk now with my blood  and my devils through New York streets while Granny walks even in rain to the chapel next door in the early Colombo morning to pray for her children and grandchildren, her husband's soul, their passing to shadow blood abroad.

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