The following is from "The Excrement Poem." Excrement is one of those everyday things that not many poets over the age of 9 would even consider tackling
It is done by us all, as God disposes, from
the least cast of worm to what must have been
in the case of the brontosaur, say, spoor
of considerable heft, something awesome.
We eat, we evacuate, survivors that we are.
I think these things each morning with shovel
and rake, drawing the risen brown buns
toward me, fresh from the horse oven, as it were,
or culling the alfalfa-green ones, expelled
in a state of ooze, through the sawdust bed
to take a serviceable form, as putty does,
so as to lift out entire from the stall.
Read the rest of the poem in Maxine Kumin: Selected Poems, 1960-1990 [811.54 KUM], or click here.
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