Llamas

I can tell you one thing about llamas: they don’t spit
unless you tease them.
I can tell you another thing about llamas: sometimes
they don’t react to your whistles.

I sometimes feel like a llama.
Why should I turn my shoulders, face your direction
When you howl like a wolf?
Why should I be the prey when I can be the hunter?

When they used me to create the most divine of tunes,
They didn’t stop and think once.
I wish they had.
Oh how it saddens me to be redundant.
How it saddens me not to make the final five.

I voted for you, I spit in everybody else’s face,
And they kicked me out of society,
Like an outlaw, like a pathetic little loser.

I rooted for you, I grassed in front of you,
You tried to tame me, tame my spirit
While, at the same time, you moved me
With your spirit, your smouldering fire,
And I couldn’t turn away from the howl.

Yes, you got me hooked,
Yes, you made me the prey to your haunting,
Yes, I was the chewing llama you pretended to have not noticed you.