cheeseboard

i like my meat like i like my cheese;
i want it to look as if it never knew
how to run across the earth. square. circle. shred.
in the u.s., death 
is not knife or even bolt through skull. 
instead, it is the way the slices are arranged.
perfect rows. before famine, we knew
only berries. our eyes plucked 
from a pudding night. they used
to have picnics by the battlefield. 
butterknife. bree. bone. 
we are not the only animal who kills 
but we are the only animal that holds
executions. who stacks crackers & cheese
& wipes crumbs from our laps. 
they will tell you to pray when 
you should be moving. running into
a meadow & hiding in the grass. i do not
really eat cheese but i love a cheese board.
maybe it is the brief semblance of order.
it seems to say, "now we are a holiday."
the television becomes smaller & smaller
until it lives in our blood. we watch
another documentary about
the kennedy assassination. it should
not be a mystery. in the u.s., all bullets
are magic. they say in the mouth 
of the right queer they become 
a seed. i have seen a cherry tree grow
from the face of a deer. i have seen
someone jump from a bridge & become
a heron. i make a cheese board just
to look at it. not to eat. take a picture.
sit outside with it. take it to the doctor
with me. then, finally, go to the park
& let the other wiser animals have at it.