honu

This morning I stopped

in the road for a large man

who motioned with his hands urgently,

then emerged again with a shovel

bravely scooping Honu

gently and gently laying him

in the tall grass; cars piled

behind me, behind him,

no one honking.

Honu, about his business,

slow, going into the brush.

she think she pretty

Evernew, she walkabout

all bobble-headed

in her skin, bones rattlin'

each stomp a waddle,

a heavy drag then lift of the foot.

She don’t care,

She think She pretty,