by Jack Cooper

My reputation died with me, so what?
Decay is a wonderful smith.
Bury a body of flesh or work,
its skeleton slips through
the fervid rot,
awaiting a curious eye.

Take these bare bones, do you see?
I was the first of our genus,
the squat fish to your swallow;
dragging myself to new ground,
each step slow, momentous.

Oh, how I envy that lightness.
How you soar where I could not!