Cameroon

I humbly welcome you to Cameroon,
a ring of bone huddled over ancient dung
like a funeral parlor under elephant grass
shuffled by yellow dust beneath a martingale.

A ring of bone huddled over ancient dung
breathes, inhaling saline through its trunk
and shuffles yellow dust beneath a martingale,
while poisonous flies drink up its ebon tears.

Inhaling draughts of saline through their trunks,
they join the gray procession of the dead,
those poisoned flies that drank the ebon tears
who die with patience nobly in a field.

They join the gray procession of the dead
and slowly hum the tones no humans hear,
of patience dying nobly in a field,
of altogether old, and unforgotten friends.

And slowly now, those tones no humans hear,
yet loud enough to unhinge the beetle-pews
will call together unforgotten friends
across five lonely miles toward the end:

So loud as to unhinge the beetle-pews
like a funeral parlor under elephant grass
across five lonely miles toward the end
I humbly welcome you to Cameroon.