04-13-2024, 11:37 AM
I would rather write about elephants than torture.
In Africa, where summer’s a scorcher,
people often end up in a lion’s
belly. Of beautiful young Nelly
there’s a tale of woe. Being a ho
makes her tale no less tragic,
it’s sad if it’s anthropophagic
regardless of the victim. As to why I picked him -
for Nelly identified as a male animal -
specifically, an elephant adorned with a lotus
whose forefather was gifted by Sandrokotus
to Seleucus, then in turn to the Molossian king,
serving in the formidable ranks of Hannibal -
I picked him because it serves a cautionary tale:
you’re not an elephant, female or male,
if you don’t have a trunk.
On the day of the story, young Nelly was a-roaming
feeling lucky as a punk,
railing at the advice of the witch doctor - monk
against venturing in the gloaming
when the felines are de-homing
in the savanna. “Junk!
Your thinking always stunk!”
roared foaming at the mouth, a cross young Nelly,
quivering like jelly
with rage. “Does a pachyderm need permission?
The matriarch knows her mission,
and single young males
scatter, like gales,
prides of scraggly lions, from Uganda to Wales.”
Then Nelly (known as Ryan)
upped and sauntered
into the savanna
like Castro into Havana
and Trump into his cabana.
At the sight of the first hungry feline
Nelly’s pants showed a pee line,
though briefly, for after a strangled scream
which might as well have been a bad dream
but for the whomping,
the chundering and chomping,
as unlike an original elephant
into the lion’s belly went
with monogrammed clothing elegant
young Ryan, also Nelly, gent.
In Africa, where summer’s a scorcher,
people often end up in a lion’s
belly. Of beautiful young Nelly
there’s a tale of woe. Being a ho
makes her tale no less tragic,
it’s sad if it’s anthropophagic
regardless of the victim. As to why I picked him -
for Nelly identified as a male animal -
specifically, an elephant adorned with a lotus
whose forefather was gifted by Sandrokotus
to Seleucus, then in turn to the Molossian king,
serving in the formidable ranks of Hannibal -
I picked him because it serves a cautionary tale:
you’re not an elephant, female or male,
if you don’t have a trunk.
On the day of the story, young Nelly was a-roaming
feeling lucky as a punk,
railing at the advice of the witch doctor - monk
against venturing in the gloaming
when the felines are de-homing
in the savanna. “Junk!
Your thinking always stunk!”
roared foaming at the mouth, a cross young Nelly,
quivering like jelly
with rage. “Does a pachyderm need permission?
The matriarch knows her mission,
and single young males
scatter, like gales,
prides of scraggly lions, from Uganda to Wales.”
Then Nelly (known as Ryan)
upped and sauntered
into the savanna
like Castro into Havana
and Trump into his cabana.
At the sight of the first hungry feline
Nelly’s pants showed a pee line,
though briefly, for after a strangled scream
which might as well have been a bad dream
but for the whomping,
the chundering and chomping,
as unlike an original elephant
into the lion’s belly went
with monogrammed clothing elegant
young Ryan, also Nelly, gent.