Camel Cheese Poem by James McLain

She keeps me.
Well I dont know any thing else,
is there more than my world hers,
in which i live my life.?
I go out shopping,
in the city market three times a week,
with real money.
I bring the baby,
of nine months and john,
who is three.
I buy more diapers, for Caroline,
there are no Waldemar's here.
I hand John a piece of cheese,
made from camels milk,
his wind,
is like the breath,
of a buzzard,
it must be the cheese.
It swells in this heat,
where is she?