The Muhuru
Richard Stevenson
The Muhuru
don’t moo or croon;
he just bops you
on the noggin
when he’s out sloggin’
in a swamp or fen
and you get in his way.
Ol’ Stegosaurus
had a thagomizer –
four spikes to hit your conk.
Harder to retract, alas.
and only good for
a single bonk.
So maybe the Muhuru
evolved from ol’ Steg –
grew smaller planks
along his back, but
kept his foul disposition.
Now he’s on a mission.
Gonna stomp outta the tulies
and into the movies.
Gonna start hammerin’ table tops
to get what he wants.
Ten-gallon salads. Plenty more
Liana fruit. Toot sweet!
He could sever fingers
or bash in your skull
if you’d rather he give up
the gavel. Just keep your distance.
Bipedal bang-stick tottin’ humans
only need a single swat
to assume the horizontal.
Bring food, not bazookas!
Take pictures if you must.
But forget absconding with him
to some cement pond in a zoo.
He’ll swing that tail like Paul Bunyan
at your conk. He ain’t in the mood
for three square meals and a cage.
Don’t care about Linnaeus
and his genus and species
system of nomenclature.
Call him what you want.
Call him Mallam Muhuru
or dub him Cap’n Crunch.
Omnivore? Drop in for lunch and see.
