Oxen Skulls

by Alice Parris

Oxen skulls were bleached torrid-white.
Such a color we had never seen before.

We looked to the heavens for amnesty.
None was seen in the firmaments.

Then, we became rainmakers.

We whirled and twirled in our
pre-historic-like frenzy desparately
trying to create like our Maker.

When rain did come, it destroyed.
We watched emptied lives float by.

Then, we stopped chanting.

Cruel-black vultures perch atop
southern California houses...waiting.

Have we become mad or have we been sucked
into a new madness created by greed with 

its hungry, grasping lips, teeth, and tongue?

Oxen Skulls by Alice Parris

© Copyright 2006. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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