An American In India At Christmas
In India
the cow is spared indignity
trees are milked for butter.
In India
they bake girls like whole grain bread
beneath a tropic sun
dark eyed nipples bronze medallions
spinning softly breasts.
An American
in India
walks through groves of butter trees
hot saw severs seamlessly a trunk
milks butter-blood
to smear his brown bread woman's skin.
Enters her
a hot saw tasting butter
where black hair is
steaming
from Indian winter's sun.
An American In India At Christmas