George, the greatest of his name

There are few places where you can find a bison in your garden, but only one where you can find George.

He raised his great head at the sun at dawn,
Two distended nostrils snorted wreaths of frosted air.
He stood gigantic in the middle of my garden,
And snorting, shat upon my flowers.
Black as the ancient rock around us
His horns rising like an emperor’s crown,
He was handsome beyond description.
I fiddled with my camera paparazzi-style,
He turned and gave me a royal stare,
And I, dropped my eyes before him,
Glad he would let me be within strike,
And yet, I wish, I could click just once.
He snorted again, and ambled over the fence.
With a swish of his tail he was gone.
We call him ‘George,’ monarch of Ketti.

***

Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you too have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at editor@madrascourier.com.

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