Evolution of the centipede so far
The centipede keeps a pair of legs
behind his head, ready to paralyse
prey with venom.
The wet and squirty kind;
he doesn’t read or write.
Neither does the centipede have sex.
He lodges his sperm
inside a web.
A female centipede ambling by
sometimes picks it up.
The centipede starts his day at night
breakfasting on worms and being eaten
in turn by salamanders.
And by humans
if pickled or deep fried.
The centipede doesn’t ever run out of time
making him skip a visit to an uncle
with dementia.
And he doesn’t say, Anyway
his uncle wouldn’t miss him.
The centipede doesn’t spend the following day
in bed. He wouldn’t know a migraine
if it cracked him on the head.
How low can you get, trying to offload guilt onto a poor centipede! But it works very well.
Excellent. It’s wonderful to laugh. Er..hmm do you need the last three stanzas?!! Pickled or deep fried would be a fantastic ending.
ooh if life was only as simple as our lovely centipede – what a great way to expose yourself in public in poetry – via an imaginary centipede and you haven’t used “I” anywhere! and now for the challenge – write about you from the centipede’s perspective – go on – I dare you!!!!!