Lama and Elephants
Mitchell Grabois
The Dalai Lama reclines on a red velvet couch as he flips through Readers’ Digest, large print edition. He laughs at the jokes. His favorites are: Humor in Uniform and Life in These United States.
It’s easy to be content when a nation has worshipped you as a God since birth. The sunset is blood red.
We elephants pull on our hoods with our trunks, adjust them, adjust our neighbors’, so only our eyes show, real sinister.
Gonna rampage, gonna trample humans.
We’ve been put in circuses, zoos, murdered for ivory, made to carry royal posers and dalai lamas. We’ve been chained to the ground, terrorized.
No more. It’s revolution time. We pull on our hoods so we can’t be identified.
I want to trample some human children. Some of my comrades disagree, think I’ve got an ugly soul, but I want their parents to know we mean business. We’re not fucking around anymore. I wish I had fingers like them, to light matches. The game has changed.
It’s easy to be content when a nation has worshipped you as a God since birth. The sunset is blood red.
We elephants pull on our hoods with our trunks, adjust them, adjust our neighbors’, so only our eyes show, real sinister.
Gonna rampage, gonna trample humans.
We’ve been put in circuses, zoos, murdered for ivory, made to carry royal posers and dalai lamas. We’ve been chained to the ground, terrorized.
No more. It’s revolution time. We pull on our hoods so we can’t be identified.
I want to trample some human children. Some of my comrades disagree, think I’ve got an ugly soul, but I want their parents to know we mean business. We’re not fucking around anymore. I wish I had fingers like them, to light matches. The game has changed.
