Children’s Poetry

IN ABSENCE OF BARROWANGOES

 

 

In darkest Tarogango

 

between the majjerkwans

 

there lives a barrowango,

 

eating plastic bags and cans.

 

 

She loves the tops of bottles,

 

is sweet on pull-off tabs;

 

her skin grown warm – then mottles

 

at thrill of snatched first dabs.

 

 

She gargles with the acid

 

pumped from the nearby plant.

 

She’s homely, shy and placid,

 

but a credit to her aunt.

 

 

Tyres to her are liquorice,

 

old cable – dental floss;

 

Nuc-waste for her icing (bliss!)

 

stickiest crude oil her sauce.

 

 

But Earth’s not Tarogango –

 

the place we’ve never seen;

 

we have no barrowangoes –

 

we must keep our planet clean.

 

(c) Perry McDaid 1997

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About phoenixmartin

C&G IT; BTEC Business Studies; BSc Hons Grad - Dipl Lit - published writer and poet working on play. Masters Ed
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