Two of everything, it’s written somewhere, meaning a breeding pair.
But I’ve wondered, alone and feral, under the puzzle-pieced
night sky, about the duds—bum steers and defiants,
the intersown paramours, the shamed livestock
whose omnivorous urges I hear cruising the zoo park.
When the ancient stockpiling crossed the dock,
ascended the plank, and the rank and file
hoof, talon, and foot found their arrangements readied,
surely they sensed difference, some before the first coitus
was rattled to completion at sea.
I’ve lounged with my particulars between lovers
and seen in a mirror where my hands were lain
after wriggling when I should’ve zipped. In other words,
I’ve got cavities of experience. Thus the old ark’s
too pure for my taste: one of everything, I say,
and come on, come forward, come what may.