I wrote this poem…

Because I hate hippos.

Ode to Hippos.

or quite the opposite.

 

Resting kins in the sub-saharan nuclear.

Hip, shake, decaynine.

Something so fantastical, someone so wet. Some Things…

are allowed to hold grudges.

 

The chameleon sea horse,

barrels down the mud,

only to blend in.

Only to pig feed.

 

A good reputation

for the unreachable speech.

Feet-too-big,

for ballerina shoes.

 

Impostor, oil salesman, fraudulent

Whatever you’d like to call it.

The hippopotami is too far gone to be congenial.