DENNIS CUMMINGS

ARMADILLO

This life replete with the promises
of a protected journey offers little
more than the hope of a dry nest of leaves
in the dark night of the Panhandle.

Though hunkered and sheltered
against the torrent of enormous hail,
I imagined myself bruised and bleeding
as I paddled across the Rio Grande.

In the desert sun I dreamed I was
the subject of an inquest by the men
of Los Alamos. I was almost comfortable
before them, encased in my leathery

suit of leaves, my embryonic body
safe as a pharaoh in Thebes, sure
not to betray my fear of being
crushed by inanimate matter.