Knee deep
into the Holocene days of pre-Indiana,
a mammoth trekked into bog land and
discovered it could not go any further.
The poor sucker sunk, tusk and all into the
muck and waited a long time for anyone
to notice. Bye organs, said the bones,
bye brothers, bye sun, bye grass.

Many Julys passed,
until a homo sapien in overalls,
much to his surprise, you can imagine,
plowed into the mammoth’s grave
while tending to his corn stalks.
He unearthed its prehistoric ribs,
exposing the guts of his farmland
to authentic 20th century sunlight.

Phone calls were made,
and the American Museum of Natural
History arrived on the scene to inspect
the farmer’s discovery. They told the
New York Times who published
word of a manmoth found in Indiana.
Lizzie Bishop thought this a riot and
robbed the fella of his moment.

Last August,
A girl whipped up Central Park West, her head
out the window, her sense somewhere in Brooklyn.
On 77th Street, she passed by the Mammuthus.
He’s on the 4th floor, among other stolen
bones; braced by tasteful scaffolding, towering
ten feet tall. Bye, museum, said the girl,
bye taxi cabs, bye night, bye moon.