Sunday, October 26, 2008

The Elephant and the Tricycle

"What's this, here? For me? For me?!"
Elephant shrieks and stomps with joy.
"Oooh! She's shiny, she's beeoooteeful ... I love her!"
(An elephant with a brand-new toy
is a dangerous beast — for all his mirth —
as he teeters and vibrates and shakes the earth.)
"Oh, I must try her!" And, thoughtlessly
(her pleas, her confusion he cannot hear),
he centers his elephant seat above her.
Elephant, he holds her near,
caresses her — his arms enfolding —
hugs her tight (oh yes, he loves her)
... but, alas, she cannot hold him.

She was meant for another rider
— someone gentler (someone lighter?).
He could never keep her, touch
her, love her (woe! he weighs too much!).
She, his fondest wish, was granted
— elephant, his eyes shone starry.
Now, he cries. Her crushed cadaver
lies before him — he could not have her.
And, disbelieving, disenchanted,
he turns away and says, "I'm sorry."

— Ender

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