The Tale of the Lizard and the Egg

I began adding the word “poem” in parantheses at the end of blog post titles because I used to write short fiction with some frequency. I haven’t done so in a while, though I’m pondering writing another book. I still struggle with the art and craft of short fiction writing, and poetry comes more naturally. Since almost everything I post here has been and will continue to be poetry, I’m dropping the (poem) from the post. In the event I post fiction, I’ll note it.

The following poem made me laugh when I wrote it, but it also saddened me a bit, too. There’s strength in this lizard, foolish as he is. 

The Tale of the Lizard and the Egg

“It would be groovy if you were my friend,”
the lizard said, licking the air, blinking for fun.
He jazzed up his skin with another color: eggplant purple.

The egg, characteristically, said naught.

“Listen,” the lizard went on, “just give me a wobble, man.
Roll a little to the left, or jigger over to the right.
It’s just you and me, pal. The days and nights are long.”

The egg didn’t wobble. It didn’t roll or jigger.

“Fuck this scene, egg,” the lizard spat.
“And fuck you.” But he stayed on.
He wept profusely, but he fucking stayed on.

2 thoughts on “The Tale of the Lizard and the Egg

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