Aug. 21st, 2010

nickbarnes: (Default)
Along the road the Dairy Crest man drove.
Beneath his hands the steering wheel was round1.
Cars right and left, before, behind; above1b
descends the evening sky. His weighty load1c
emptied across the carriageway. Police!
Fire! Rescue vehicles: flashing lights descend.
Giraffes and lions roaming through the trees.2
How did they get there? Was the truck pretend?3
Ignorant, they knowingly escaped,4
jumped free across the verge into the woods.
Kindness! The strange and moving scene was taped.5
Long queues of traffic formed while men in hoods
manhandled crates of milk, the smoking wreck,
now empty, towed away. The mystery!
Outraged, the driver shouted, "'oo the 'eck
put them in there? 6By what strange history?"
Quite puzzled he stood there, surrounded by
reporters, cameras, and microphones.
Stunned, our hero stared, confounded by
their questions. Later8, many precious stones,
uncovered in the murky undergrowth,
valued by an expert with a loupe9,
were found. The lion and giraffe were both
X-rayed by vets, produced more in their poop.
Yet whose were they? And who cleaned up the mess?11
Zoo animals can't tell: you'll have to guess.

[1] As opposed to square, say.
[1b] A rhyme. Well, sort of. This was composed as a driving game, without paper, and not planning to blog it later. Initially it was just alphabetic iambic pentameters, which then just started to form a poem.
[1c] God only knows what happened to this rhyme.
[2] You what?
[3] Good questions.
[4] Ooh, poetic, eh?
[5] Taped off by police? Recorded by roving reporters? We leave it to the reader.
[6] ... and then continued in quite a different voice ...
[8] Because our story so far is much too simple and dull, ...
[9] If this doesn't rhyme with poop, I don't want to know.
[10] That's enough footnotes.
[11] MIB. Look into the light.


nickbarnes: (Default)

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