Pachyderm Grip
I know you love Korean food and dine on the
other sweet side of the world
I wonder if you toppled clean over
when the runaway circus herd swooshed past your shoulder.
They stepped on the tables like tapestry's ripping
clean off of the castles they'd centuries lived in
They danced on them like the ballerina brigade
full of emboldened students in third or fourth grade.
The chefs with crisp hats fell flat into vats
of soups made from fire spice broths
The elephants trumpeted and trunks to their mouths
carrots and red peppers quick tossed
Somehow they knew that their moments were few
and they grinned tusk to tusk, hip to hip
I find Korean restaurants much spicier,
when they fall into the pachyderm’s grip.
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