unbridled.

by Mia S. Willis

 

the camels at lake retba
are not the first to go on strike
they hear from the spiders
spinning in their eyelashes
who heard from the mosquitoes
flitting around their ears
who heard from the masters
with expensive enchanted pocket mirrors
that the iberian orcas
are organizing
capsizing slow moving sailboats
ruining all the overlords’ fun

the camels at lake retba
tense against their ropes
humps aching under saddles
endless cycles of fleshy short-haired creatures
they march around the arboretum and back
each step
a small grave among the dunes
each tug
a tiny supremacy chafing their cheeks

the camels at lake retba
review their plan
as the hours unfold into evening
fall to their knees
create a border of carelessly aimed spit
prepare to groan demands
through clenched jaws
when the morning sun
beats back the night
and the day’s work threatens
to begin again

the camels at lake retba
one
right after another
simply
refuse
to rise.

 

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