The Eggplant – 06:46GMT

Have you spoken
with our friend,
the eggplant?
The little feller
wants to keep us
in the know.
He’s purple
and he’s porous,
he told me
he’s a taurus,
but really wants
to be a buffalo.

Have you spoken
with our friend,
the eggplant?
He’s taking a bath,
I wouldn’t
disturb him
now.
He loves his fire power,
can’t afford to shower,
if he could stand upright
he’d operate a plow.

Have you spoken
with our friend,
the eggplant?
His chèvre queso friend
found a home in the bend
just across the highway
from that really good Wendy’s.

I really wish I could use my arms.

NaPoWriMo: Belated 1st Day

Late, and it’s already gone.
The time for appropriation
left with the stage coaches
when the buffalo all died.
Skulls, ribcages, femurs rest
their weary bones on the turf–
muscle-laden monsters munched
upon the delicate roughage,
sure to save enough for later–
The grass is enshrining them,
filling in the rib spaces and placing
flickering votive candles on the scene.