I found them chewing on a corpse.
They wouldn't say who'd killed it.
Hyenas are commonly noisy:
the noise to smother the shame.
They tell me how they like to live.
They do not lie all of the time.
Their oral tradition goes unchallenged,
cannibalism never mentioned.
I do some sketches of them but
they don't recognise themselves.
One of them puts his hands on his head.
Another grows depressed.
They hate and love each other
for imposing this form on themselves.
In sunlight, what they don't notice,
their shadows are those of men.
