They crawl from sleep and drink with ease
Battle the beasts of Tsavo to appease
the gods that thirst the blood of twins,
covered in loincloth and fed on beans
picked from the wild and roasted on spears
They beat huge drums made of skin
of past beasts fallen and preyed by a kin
pounding their chests for a bride
grounding their feet in pride
till dust brings the day to dusk

And when the owls and bats are out
be certain the wild is up and about
so one by one they pile on another
not for pleasure and not by gender
and slumber till the sun recovers

And off they wander the wild with dogs
fed on cat bones and bred by the gods
caring less of the count of the dead
caring not of diamonds in the rock bed

Oft once in a while they smile
for a little gift of sweets and style
then crawl beneath you bound in cuffs
former masters having failed their vows

“Son, that is not a thing I saw
But if and when you visit them
Say not a word unlike I did
That is Africa, not a thing unlike”

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