Kapparot

ai ai, ai ai
how your blood did stain the rationed petals
of my average sized soviet heart

golden arrows turned to lead
which when removed exposed
the rotten state of all my innards

ai ai, ai ai
i once laughed and said we’re different
like how a child swears to not become his parents

like the hammer mark on a bullet shot
but time will always defeat idealism
i’ve become my father’s son and you, the desert’s sand

within the markets of dusty el fayoum
where angry faces all are cloaked in linen cloth
and there is hurried pacing to acerbic gusts of oud

and there i watch the man unsheathe his dirk
stroke the blade and then his sabulous beard
at the expense of the neck of an emaciated hartebeest

the waxed blood, it sears across the careless ground
and forms an encaustic image of us with apathetic roman eyes,
portraits to be lost amongst the pharaohs’ tombs

enticed by the scent, a great bittern rises from his bed of reed
and how the mire drum beats upon the land
ai ai, ai ai

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