Sun-scorched I climb up
my own backyard pyramids,
a Pharaoh in the frame of a boy,
my hands pulling straw from
the fourth wonder of my world.
An eagle corkscrews my regal ascent
before turning away to stalk
the badlands of the Nile basin.
My headdress flips over my squinting eyes
as spindly legs awkwardly master
each sacred step of the quarried blocks
and I pull myself onto
my pinnacle moment.
Looking now out over my First Dynasty
the sun has flitted behind the eclipse
of a cloud and briefly
it’s a duck, a brook, a cap,
a haystack mounted by a little boy.
Briefly.
My first wonder is calling me
from the palace gate.
Even Pharaohs have to have their dinner.