#337: March 26, 2007

The thing was made of donuts and green beans,
of coffee grounds and spoiled scrambled eggs;
its eyes oranges; its hair was collard greens,
and celery stalks and corn husks were its legs.

It pulled itself out of the garbage dump
and slunk along the river toward the town,
and where it touched the bank a ghastly lump
would fall and turn the tide a sickly brown.

And when it reached the square, it roared just once--
then fell, a fetid, evil-smelling hill;
and though we covered it with earth, for months
the stench of its decaying cursed us still.

But that's long past, and nothing's left now--save
the rainbow-brilliant blooms that dot its grave.