Nathaniel Box

Cherub Box    

                

Girls and boys wrapped taut,
Like Baby burritos;
Like the ones we rolled ourselves in,
In our childhood,

Except,
Our possum play
Never went so far
As the grave, or the wailing
Of Gilgamesh, the King.

Crocodile tears
Could bring us from the realm
Of oiled crow-men,
But true lament could not
Find the wild-man Enkidu's soul,

Nor the lives
That belong
To those Arabian cherubs.