26 April 2012
It stinks of poo when I’m at the park zoo; thank god it’s in a cage; not the heel of my shoe. If evolution worked; they’d be on the loo, behind closed doors for a number two.
When it’s ripe; the stinky type, excavate the pipe; with a whistle and a wipe. Don’t delay, or dare display, the process of the food’s from yesterday.
Walking home, I trod in shit! Filling up my tread; it’s the perfect fit. Angry at the muck, up the side of my shoe, I didn’t sense the bird which above me flew.
Until I felt the thud, the warmth of its goo, I wish I was back, at the stinky park zoo.
Park Zoo • Opuss № I