Rosina Talamantes


In the foreground the elephant seals grunt
& hump looking for a harem to filch.
The mothers have birthed, pups gumming teats.
A lost oneís hollering sounds exceedingly human.
My husband finds amusement in the battles,
the large proboscides, the equivalent of endurance
or being well-hung. In the distance a gang
of young bulls are outcasts, practicing their bouts
for the next season of promiscuity. War & property
are a manís lot
, I secretly muse. Sand fleas perforate
the evening becoming aware of dried placenta,
a flag of primary unity. The ocean waxes
in an ordinary pathos. Later, we too will mate,
molt our desires, a kind of helplessness.

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