The hunter drags the lion’s head
across the floor of the jungle
thinking of tomato soup and fresh socks
waiting warm and soft at his campsite.
These African skies all end black and cool
wet with honeysuckle cologne
and starved breath
until the fires start.
In the end it will all burn.
It will all drown.
It will find love
The looters announce themselves
with customized mufflers
capturing a boom and reverberation
like a sonic embassy.
They blast Van Halen,
and dine under flood lights.
This convergence of crime,
when the jackal looks up
from the shredded throat of an old leopard
to catch the one-eyed vulture wink,
is all that is left.
The sound of soup cans clanging into a truck bed
adds hurried syncopation to the jungle soundtrack.
The hunter stops in the bush.
He rests his dumb ass on the lions head,
ties his shoes,
and watches as his campsite burns.
Maxwell MacDonald grew up on the coast of Maine . . . “went west like we all have to do, and continue to pick the bones clean . . . “
ZO has started the tradition with our poetry expo — to use a particular piece of art as a muse and then to pair the featured poems we choose with new art. As we searched for an appropriate piece for Maxwell’s poem we couldn’t help but envision the many hunts that we’ve seen in the news of late where beautiful endangered animals are killed as trophies. It is our hope that awareness increases and that blindness ceases in regard to this. We alsothought it was kind of serendipitous that we chose the work of a photographer who goes by the moniker “Fate atc (amenable to change)” .