After flying all night
over the Atlantic,
he deplaned,
while children ran from him,
screaming, “Monstre, monstre!”,
in Danish falsetto.
He examined himself
and found nothing grotesque,
aside from a few
bumps and wrinkles,
tired eyes and
an unfortunate reliance
on flat California English;
nothing terribly scary.
And, then, the barks —
he turned and saw,
close on his heels,
a pair of bulldogs
on leather leashes
with day-glo pink collars,
and, as he petted
the slobbery giants,
he felt his newfound monsterhood
sadly slip away.
Bluster & Absurdity 