Tunnel through a portal
leading past dungeons,
underneath a dragon
both juvenile and mature
enough to know the difference
between a swordsman and
a cake-making grandmother
when both tap on its shoulder
looking for attention solely because
a mythical reptile shouldn’t be
taking up three lanes on the interstate,
much less signaling to passing motorists
that stopping means succumbing to
orchestrated predation that predates
the dawn of our monkey brains.
WHARVED 