Dead Elephant


Most of the carcass is off-camera
but the fake billionaire’s half-wit son smiles
holding up the severed tail & brandishing
a clean knife, too small to do the job

Clearly someone stands beyond the frame
bloody, sweat-soaked & bathed in grief
feeding his family with the kind of job
white people have offered black people

for 400 years, give or take
an elephant’s lifetime, the speed of a bullet.
On the back of the photo, he writes,
“Are you proud of me yet, Daddy?”

About marcbeaudin

Poems, plays, books, roads, trails.
This entry was posted in poetry, politics, Writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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