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.