Trump

When I try to start a poem with,
“If I could only be an elephant,”
it ends with too much sadness
to begin.

Fierce love disrupted
through culling’s lethal game.

Circus crowds
with ooooos and ahhhhhs,
pay for elephant chains.

It’s over before it begins.

Humanity holds the trump card
yearning for cash and coins.

They win.

Ladies and Gentlemen!
In the center ring!

Brenda Warren 2014

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