Features? Embarrassed of their faeces,
omnivorous and sad, awkward beasts
dependent on their tightly metred breath
to keep on feeding, sleeping, breeding.
Oddly they prohibit eating certain species,
like guinea pigs or golden lemurs,
any kind of creatures who can crease
their hairless faces into wrinkles: amusement,
is it, or the purest, dumbest recognition.
They laugh, yes, and snort, and stifle sneezes,
and though they sport the same thin fleeces
in the southern droughts and northern freezes,
so instinctively aggressive is the genus
that they herd in such a way to leave the weakest
prey to what might find it easiest to eat.
Still, wide-eyed in the darkness they fear it.
Part-rational, part-mammal, poor bastards,
forever yanked along on leashes by their genes.
Their minds may shine with language, yes,
but what good’s that? Words are just pieces, like they are,
poor fuckers, who sit by themselves in the small hours,
warming a grievance, talking aloud, articulating
tiny myths of struggle and deliverance.
I did find something in them almost pleasing.