Poem

Crisis on the Savannah

Tom Clark

“I must complain the cards are
ill-shuffled till I have a
good hand.”
        —Jonathan Swift

“Believing something will happen 
        Because I don’t want it to
And that some other thing won’t
        Because I do—” I wailed to the dealer—
“This is desperation.” “Yeah?” he said. But then by
        Your graceful lines, your lioness’ mane,
Your heat as you returned from
        Your day in the jungle, you relieved me from
What in myself was desperate,
        What even now insists on wishing
And believing. Still in the sheen of finely-breathing
        Blond hair that covers you,
By the flashing way you move from tree
        To tree, and from room to room,
Making it a bright full house,
        I find at least the light to see the cards I am dealt.

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