Sonnet: Whoa, Man, the Scent of a
by John Kendall Hawkins
All the hyenas are laughing at the edge,
closing in at the scent of our culture,
dying like Gregory Peck; a vulture
committee waits; a lion's in the sedge.
Their trilling laughter fills the air with mirth,
air otherwise putrid with our disease --
gangrenous hearts, our love has cut the cheese
and now we have given away the Earth.
The snows of Kilimanjaro are gone
forever; Susan Hayward's split the scene;
there's high turbulence; the season's mean;
and dying Gregory relives the con.
They're circling now, there's movement in the grass,
and the sixth extinction has come to pass.