SPECIES Poem by Ruth Lasters

Why don't we in case of despair, no matter whose, make formations
like ducks suddenly form a v against a whirlwind.

Perhaps a herringbone floor of us hundred
standing closest, feet crossed over crowns

as soon as a gong resounds with which one person applies for
temporary release, evacuation from himself to

‘the species'. Or more feasibly: that one helpless one who squeezes
acrobatically into a suitcase which we then pass on and on through

streets, with as destination only his unconditional remaining.
Till he kicks the suitcase open, can deal with himself again, get a

grip.