jungle rescue

I can show you
a photograph
of the path
dirt worn
and barely wide enough
for one

kept clear
only by the application
of a machete slash
and perhaps the poking
of a purely defensive
pointy stick

it’s a trail that runs
by winding route
from the entry hall
through what was once
a formal lounge room

the boxes
higgle-thrown
rise high
in this feral residential
jungle land

no one alive can know
what they might have held
once
maybe that one there
was a pizza
supreme I think

a pair of size eleven sandshoes
resided before the mice
in that one

and here
was something wet
that ate right through
a cardboard corner
and then the carpet

it might have been
a floral
once

tendrils
supporting sundry wildlife
hang
from a cornice
and from the lightbulb

drooping grey
and swung
by a fortuitous
upper stratospheric breeze
they have joined confections
piled high
in all points but one
forearm cleared and clean stripe-smeared
managed space
at a corner
of the kitchen table

sized right for one
if he is small enough

a rodent
is beating his tom-toms well
very well
to sound a warning
from his lookout post
high
on the peaks of mountains

Mount Pan-higher

Mount Dish-more

the rat
has seen me
in occasional glimpses
of filtered light
as I move between the refuse
and the discards
and shopping-bags of dirty plastic
and the swamp traps
poorly camouflaged by tricks
played out in shadows

armed only with my powerful disgust
and a sword
I have named Most Reluctant

we are coming in to rescue
and retrieve
a poor
lost
mountain climbing
residential jungle dwelling
failure

who calls this midden
his home


© Frank Prem, 2016

Poem #17: ruffling the skin

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