Hunt and Gather

He turns the spit and grunts among the men
Who now are friends but would be enemies,
Except the beast was driven from its den.
On other nights who knows? Who dare would tease
Before the fire imagination’s fear
Of empty stomachs? Barely satisfied,
Some wrestle like their dogs while others spear
More meat and barter bitches for the hide.

But in his mind he hears a sound more fair
Come gently from a cantilevered stone.
Beside another flame Um will bare
All fur tomorrow night for him alone
And celebrate, despite the danger there,
The birth of poetry’s primeval moan.