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


from Indian winter's sun.

An American In India At Christmas


Marie Celeste