Sighs And An Agouti Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

The shrubby grasses
rise and fall,
curl and stand,

as he tramps
and sneaks along
the winding track.

Through the waft
and weft
of low-lying
grasses, he thaws

his rough way
to a path leading
him to other

dew-crowned
thickets and chaparral

spitting out

silver drops
of water, as
he swims through

bowing reeds
scratching
and biting him

along with
creeping vines
raising
their heads.

And kicking
his legs and thighs,
as undergrowth
and weeds
nibble off his feet.

(ii)

How the burning
sun roasts

him, as its rays
pierce skin
through bones.

How a blowing
wind slaps
and rubs him
with its hot

feathery hands
squawking
with bird feathers.

But no herons
cluck. No big wings,
rattle and flutter.

He cuts through
rib and basket weaves
of grasses
and underbrush.

(iii)

He heaves
a snake-hissing sigh,
as he's trapped

in the herringbone
weaves of taller
bowing grasses,
and jumps

at his own
ricocheted
sighs bouncing
back from

a rocky wall,
no snake
throwing its head at him.

But swallowed
by icicles
and a heavy
ice block of fear,

he turns back
at his dog
carrying with its canines
a hefty agouti.

The air grows
gossamer-light with beams
of a smile
and the fire of a grin,
as he mumbles to himself:

What a gem
of a game
in the splashes
of a hot sun.