Our Turn

The cormorant perched on the chimney stretched his wings
to dry casting a shadow like a gothic bat.
The river lapped the front door.

Time to check on the party. I waded through the one-time garden, heron high stepped my cabbages and departed.
Kingfisher did a flypast, all clear, step aboard. The magpies
in full attire, gathered planning strategy in my absence.

The boat moored in our fine city, I can see the troops gathered.
A large black bear is wearing the merchandise 'Our Turn Now.'
On a pedestal a bloated rainbow frog flashes its eyes at passers-by waving a flag with pride.

In the house the tribe is busy, we have a master plan. Some of our mutated bugs with their highly adapted mandibles are about to move onto the front benches, the back benches proving easier to devour. The steps have walked away in unison.

Other bugs are sharpening their teeth on hard words which they scribble in haste for other transformed members with pangolin tongues to secure in envelopes, licking two at a time
in order to swell the numbers.

Well done, 'Clear The House'      Our Turn Now.