Dearest Pangolin,
You’ve got no skin
To greet sunshine
In the morn.
Your hard shell-scales,
Are like thumb-nails,
Over-lap-ping,
Battle-worn.
How you roll-up,
Like a tea cup,
Or a pumped-up
Ar-ti-choke;
Armour-plated,
Stiff-lip gated,
With your head
Inside your gut.
Noxious-smelling,
Inward-dwelling,
Marking moments,
In a funk.
Will you take leave?
Having “spoken”
With a fragrance
Like a skunk
Go to sleep now,
Little “pinecone.”
Let sweet-visions
Start a-new.
Dream of termites,
Luscious larvae,
Tangy ant-mounds,
Just for you.
WORD-PLAY ARCHIVE: Click Here
