Issue 73, Spring-Summer 1978
Soon I will become an elephant.
My ears will grow and begin to droop.
They will turn grey and floppy.
A string of a tail will sprout
gently behind me. My arms and legs
will thicken and turn to fat stumps.
I will drop to all-fours against the earth
where I belong. I will pad the soft dust.
Little hairs will cover my rough rumpled body.
And, most miraculous, my nose
will lengthen beautifully, glistening
in the warm sun like a splendid python.
I will kiss the tops of trees, delicately
sniff at aromatic leaves, rest it
on a warm stone before I sleep
in quiet bassoon snoring. With it
I will lift great tree trunks
from the backs of wounded tigers.
I will blow soothing breezes
against the wilting mid-day flowers.
I will hold water in my trunk
and bring it to the city streets
and shower black-glistening children
better than a million fire hydrants.
My trunk will curl in laughter
snort in ecstasy as I bring it
fondling to the great grey breasts
of beautiful elephant women. O,
you elephant women standing in knee-high grass,
please wait for me, elephants, elephants, elephants,
because very soon now, I will become an elephant.