Flamenco of one brother, three.
One broke his heel
two threw off their shoes,
all spun round
a box drum.
Outside the dance,
the street tamps down
brown men.
Should something happen,
someone always cleans up the mess.
The cormorant's frills made of rabbit tufts
enough white around the eyes to shoot
and kill.
The blue gulf inside the bill,
now rich with
fish and blood.
Flood colonies with oil, spoil nests.
The smell!
Tell the birds.
Should something happen,
someone always cleans up the mess.Without helmets
they stood
under metal rain.
Broken bones,
lost fingers,
so much pain.
are we at war again?
Should something happen,
someone always cleans up the mess.
