Monologue of the Creamed Camel
How shall I not love the humans, nomads
that snap-shutter the Western Cordillera with a third eye?
They say the world is peeling off like whatever wallpaper is.
All I know is their sprawl is dead center
now in the grasslands. They dig for their brushes
and cigarettes to honor us, riding with noble abandon,
not so sharp-edged. We appear ready to hump
in two directions without groan.
Why would God allow them to follow us?
We love bearing their loads in transport
forty million years later since our ancestors
were bored in South Dakota like rabbits.
Could our Creator in her tipped joyfulness
match this grace as we ponder the Marfa Lights?
You will never capture my face so well as the guard hair,
the fat-laden bumps, and the serene proudness, headed
for the corners of earth’s splendor.
John Milkereit lives in Houston and has completed a M.F.A. in Creative Writing at the Rainier Writing Workshop. His work has appeared in various literary journals including San Pedro River Review, The Orchard Street Press, and The Ocotillo Review. Lamar University Press published his last collection of poems entitled Drive the World in a Taxicab. He is a 2021 Pushcart nominee.
The Ekphrastic Review
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