unsummoned, it appears as we turn off the VCR,
a show about chimps in African rain forests.
Alone arrested despite the lateness of the hour,
the fatigue, I remain to see and hear how
this ape society unlocks our mysteries
____tools, sex and war and death, maternity
but the show predictably climaxes with
chimpanzees no longer satisfied
by nuts and fruit
cameras follow a band of hunters and
the intended prey,
the chimps so clearly brighter than any living under
this canopy but those behind these technical eyes, behind recorded voice,
those who shortly will make short work
too of this ancient place.
Three males ascend—the harrier, the herder, and the one
who’ll bring the monkey down—
is there drumming on the sound track?
my heartbeat in my ears?
now watch as monkeys themselves no dummies
start screaming warnings to one another
start a mad scramble for the thinnest branches
that will hold them not the heavier pursuers
is there drumming on the sound track?
my heartbeat?
watch as the chimps miss the red monkeys
quick learners catch up with one black-white
who scurries into the trap
is there drumming on the sound track?
my heartbeat?
watch as the hunter falls upon it, then the other two,
then the whole band except a cocky challenger
who for his hubris is expelled from meat
is there drumming on the sound track?
heartbeat?
watch as the meat, “still very much alive,”
is being torn apart, camera relentless in its close-up
on the monkey’s face, these knowing eyes
is there drumming on the sound track?
heartbeat?
then watch as more companionable than in so many cases us
the chimps share and share alike
is there drumming on the sound track?
that hunt
that screaming prey
did you not see me, you
in those casual gestures of good companionship
____examining a strip of pulsing flesh
____passing it on to growing youngsters
did I not glance out as life ebbed into your watching eyes
____how shall I now find sleep?
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