Bullshit!

Kestrel friend,
Wicker-wired pebble caster
Pattering across the billowing wastes
Leather flap encumbered and jangling
Of your master’s key.

Spread your puffy willow throat
And cry the way I told you,
The way the skyburst oysters do
In my father’s country.

The winds smell of persimmon and ivory,
Swaying the rough-shinned date palms
Whispering outside our door
Like anxious matrons.