Thursday, April 28, 2011

Dromaius novaehollandiae (the emu)

(based on suggestions from @msmisrule, @_boobook_, @_camer0n, @hleighthree)

Emus tap staccato tables,

yoink a snag or two off

forty cent fizzing grills.

Meat spiked from bread,

white pinwheel corners nicked

from slim picnickings.

Avoid mock turkey with

thin fluorescent pickles,

stick to sauce sangers.

Swift as hungry wet cats,

big brown birds skip rapport.

Nip past oncoming droplets

with necks held ahead,

feathered devils. No one

says their nonsense names

or invokes thieving beaks.

No one calls them William:

they appear anyway.

Artless flightless antichrists

jab noodle necks across

a lunch spread surrealists

would puff up with pride.

Soggy triangles droop,

melted mealy timepieces.

Long past rain o’clock

children scream; sausageless.

Parents shoo the prehistoric.


Today's poem is based on suggestions from four peeps:

  • @msmisrule: “rain, cats, lunch”
  • @_camer0n: “cut-up nonsense dada Ftumch”
  • @_boobook_ : “tapping”
  • @hleighthree: “thin pickles”

Somehow, all of this made me think of emus and how they steal your food at picnics. The buggers. I've lost sausages right out of the bread in my hand.

Also, sauce sandwiches! Best barbeque food ever.

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