He’s in musth
I must
Get out of this place
Not a pretty sight
An elephant a yard away
Urine effusing
From every orifice
His eyes meet mine
He knows no fear
Trunk assailing
Mouth agape
Acacias uprooted
The land tremors
Don’t worry, says tracker Shoes
Nervously edging back into his seat
Steve rests his hands
Nonchalantly on his rifle
Don’t be scared they all say
Seen it many times before
Hey, my first one
Swallow hard, look straight back
No difference, nothing to swallow
Saliva deserted minutes ago
But they’re right, and relieved
Not interested in inconsequential me
Just in his lover
On the other side of the track
Singita Lodge, South Africa, February 2014
