Field Visit

You came with palms outstretched,
ashamed and happy: drunk.
Bled Africa’s heart upon
our table, sang and wept –
for them, for us, for your
albatross skin.

I wished
I’d had a rabbit’s tongue
to give, a talisman
for these debasements.
Instead you gave us next
year’s calendar – had a
friend to see, you said.

You
bound your case with blue bale
twine, the clam of its mouth
spilling – slid a wave along
the concourse, left us
proud, braced, grinning.