Children’s Poetry




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


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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