The beaver and tortoise

Two pieces of ham

slapped onto the pan

of my body

oiled with sweat

and I exhaust

like a tortoise hallowing a shell

which he hopes  has a mate in it

though he can’t be sure

because she can be hiding

in herself

or maybe she’s just tired

and maybe I exhaust

more like a beaver

whose teeth keep growing

so I gnaw on trees

out of necessity

to ensure that my face doesn’t eat itself

and I make a dam

out of the refuse

– or is it just a shell –

to not waste wood

while slaughtering

the tortoises and other beavers around

to make my ham

and my home

where I existed

for a while

because I was in a relationship

and that person wished

to know where I was

before I did

and made me want

to continue

to be around

if not for myself

then

others like her,

a different animal

that could domesticate

others like me

until I was a pet

that did not know

its own real name

but only came

when ham was around