The little waxed cups all crushed and the kleenex
in the basket at my feet.

Someone was here before me
drinking water and crying.

The caveman, that hairy ape,
had been drinking from the lagoon
and spat right back into it.

Sometimes the smoke from the fires
made his eyes water

and this became associated
with the sick and the dying
who were laid out by the fires
while the others went hunting.

And always upon entering the great indoors
in inclement weather, I saw a chair
that had once been a wild tree.

Because his spear was dull that day
he had to pierce the boar over and over,
fountains of blood still pumping
as he dragged the carcass back.

Passing the fat around.
Eating the feet and the knuckles.

Finally telling the ones in the sooty cave
it was time to leave the future behind.

And here were the boar’s eyeballs to prove it.