a voice politely clears its throat again

beware of these islands
rickety jeeps run around,
sparking off bamboo boxes
that know to only chatter
way beyond the sun’s bedtime;
really they act like rats a bit
– no not their sizes or their minds
one is furry and the other
is composed of metal,

basically, and the jeeps
they do not mate or if they do
it can’t be proven – though a seagull
goes around bugging the locals
who don’t really care and resent,
frankly, the bossy pushy gull
breaking up a quiet
patio repast just to preach
about how and why the jeeps

that run around like rats
seem to multiply – as long
as they stay off the beaches
let them cross with all the rodents,
so says a typical lunching local,
as long as the one little airport
remains too small to accommodate
a jumbo jet – let the weird creatures play,
so the locals try to tell the seagull


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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