Wednesday

Kong


Kong plays with the babies,
a dandling coo coochie coo
on top of the soft black pads
of his largely perfect feet.

Kong plays with the babies,
bowered green, silverbacked
smack dab in the middle
of that continent we could

all call home.  Ancestral.

Kong plays with the babies
and watches Matilda, her
every move a wonder, all
black in that green heart.

Kong plays with the babies,
they tug, they pull, they roll
over his great drum of a belly,
pull his toe, blink then sleep.

Kong plays with the babies.