Another poet who spent some time in Tucson,
was studying here in his early days, was Mark Doty.
Here's a sweet poem.
Also a poet of Provincetown.
I know I've got some Provincetown Mass friends here.
So here's Mark for you.
This is called Little Mammoth.
Mother's milk in my belly and a little of her shit
too, so that I might eat of the sour-green steppes that
opened endlessly before me.
Though not long after I slid into sunlight
and the grass world,
I slid again into the mudslide and screamed.
And screaming, sucked clay into my trunk
till I lay on the bottom.
My milk tusks not even sprouted.
A sweet undercoat of fat ready for my first winter.
And I am still one month old and 40,000 years without my mother.