Stowaway Ursine
Shall I remind you of the way you were
The day you washed up in a seaweed clump
On Cornwall's shore? You didn't have much fur.
Without a tummy, arms and legs or rump,
Appearing like a dirty chamois rag,
With just a nose to hint you'd been a bear,
And caked with plastic, pebbles, sand and slag,
You stank to heaven up on high—to where
Us vicars get our inspiration from ...
Remember then? But now you are reborn.
Sewn back and stuffed with teddy-bear aplomb
In brand new fur, you're whole—but I'm now torn,
Not knowing whence you stowed away. So I'm
Examining your kelp to trace its slime!
(First published on 6th February, 2023 in
Oddball Magazine. Story here) |
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