The Animals

-

They will not look at you
while they swerve around you
deftly - air in a wind tunnel:
you in your reds and greens
throwing yourself about,
they in the same garb
your ancestors drew.

They will grow fat and afeard
as you start to move in,
holding them still to paint them,
implacable tastes and customs
deciding hosts of fates.

The curve of their eyes
shows you in full flow - 
you might feel the heat
leach out of one or two.

And they will not gloat
when they outlast you.


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