Riding the elephant

There is an elephant king
lying flat out on the ground,
wasted.
His life was giving rides.

I know exactly how he feels,
that's the crazy part . . .
To be used I mean,
by those with tiny dreams.

(Elephants actually walk on their toes!
They barely make a sound
because the pads of their feet
surround what they step on.)

This old one is done tip-toeing,
is lying in the dust,
imprisoned by the scale
of what used to be his eminence!

His trumpeting voice
reduced to a mere
fluting in his brain;
whatever he once wanted to trumpet.

He used to dream of rampaging
through the village,
bulldozing huts,
scattering the tiny people.

How hard it is sometimes
to remember
to be proud
of what we are.