The Thylacines

Our skins were marbled by the sun.
We wore our own hides
Proudly – like the trophy skins of prey
Or Prada fur

I had nothing else on, and you
You also wore your beard, I think, but then
It might have been no more than a half day’s growth.

It’s hard to remember. Smells
Bring memories up better and
Sometimes when I’m plunging out the drain I think
“I wish that we could do this with the past.”

The day’s going to stop, right now
The sun is about to vanish and the lights
That line the streets are soon to glow.

Our skins were smooth and young and
Underneath them we had hearts
With tusks as hard as moonrock or
The lopped horns of a lost rhinoceros.