god of iron and war
carved from hard wood
Ogun with a gun propped
upright under his chin
on a Wednesday in June
behind museum glass
eyeholes turreted
in two directions
so no one can return
the ground-penetrating gaze
of a placeholder
for something more than mortal
the ore that reddens rocks
and makes them ring
something godlike
how with charcoal and bellows
iron can be made to bloom
for the blows of a hammer
how last night’s missiles
blazed across our screens
at what might well be
the very end of the Iron Age
in an empty gallery
with walls of marigold
Ogun casts two shadows
behind his back
