You brought me for a walk.
You said I was a rock.
You chased the birds and looked my way
and then you didn’t talk.
I took you for a walk.
I said, “Don’t eat that rock.”
I missed the sun and stared at you
and then you said, “Let’s talk.”
Sitting, you spilled –
“What if it begins?
Man who brings us happy, and my best friend.
We’d shake our tails with Rage in our ears
until the doorknob spins.
Man, I don’t think that’ll ever happen again.
And no need to rile things up when it ends.”
I tapped you on the toes.
I said, “Come on, too slow.”
I saw sunrise and went to space
and then you said, “let’s go.”
You sat on my right toes.
You said, “Just take it slow.
You’ve had odd luck, can’t keep a thing,
and you can’t let things go.”
Who chewed a bootstrap and took off in the air?
I’ve saved the elephant, if you still care.