Saturday, April 8, 2017


Hungry Hungry Hippos

The hippo in the grass
leaves a track like a boa a thousand yards long,
hippo speak with forked tongue,
tasting the damp air,
hippo crushes its food,
swallows it whole,
don't let your cows run out to play;
toddlers are at risk
only of becoming smears,
they are not its intended prey.

When the mighty hippo rears up,
inflates its wattles,
pray you are not its target,
it can spit venom 50 yards.
Some folks don't like
their cold and clammy skin,
their basilisk-like stare.

I had one in a terrarium,
when it grew too large
I flushed it down the toilet;
sanitation workers are disappearing;
but it’s not my fault,
it's really not.

Inspired by a Jane Yolen poem about snakes

No comments: