I know someone who's unique,
With a spectacular physique.
The person I'd like to discuss
Is gentle, noble Platypus.
Not quite mammal, fish nor bird,
(A bill with fur looks quite absurd)
He lays eggs for a son or daughter,
And on top of that, lives under water.
We mock him to our heart's content,
Never asking his consent,
And none of us have dared to dream
If this affects his self-esteem.
Having interest in this topic,
I went Down Under to his tropic
Home with the intention to
Be granted a short interview.
So Platypus came to the shore
To meet me, looking all the more
The punch line to Sir Darwin's joke,
For his whole face moved when he spoke.
"It's nice to meet you" Platypus uttered,
While my body sharply shuddered,
Convulsing to suppress a giggle
At his duck-bill's rigid jiggle.
Trying thusly not to laugh
For fear of angst on his behalf,
I asked him for his own position
On his genetic composition.
One would think he might be bitter
For being such a novel critter,
And One has earned some self-respect,
For One, on that point, is correct.
"I hate to be antagonistic
But," he said "God is sadistic.
Why else" he asked, looking pensive,
"Would he make me look so offensive?"
"I'm excluded from the mammal parties,
Always ordered to depart be-
Cause, you see, I can't fulfil
Their standards with this stupid bill!"
Trying not to sound too callous,
I asked without a hint of malice
If he'd thought to ask asylum
From someone else in his sub-phylum.
"You think" he answered, quite irate
"That just because we procreate
With eggs and might resemble ducks
That we should hang out with those schmucks?!"
My countenance then started cracking
At the thought of this guy quacking.
"I'm sorry, Plat, but you look comical."
"Shut up!" he spat, "It's anatomical!"
"I'm thoroughly misunderstood,
Just nature's take on Tiger Woods
But human beings won't be appeased
Until my organs all are teased."
I sugar-coated my reply,
Enquiring just what platypi
Had heard to make them feel insulted
And of the things which then resulted,
The cruellest one out which he singles:
"That retarded thing you do with Pringles!"
(Would you believe me if I told ya
My editor is Master Yoda?)
So, while snacking, once you pop,
Eschew convention! You can stop
Your mockery of him, and thus
Improve the life of Platypus.
by
John Rossiter
If you know any other poems, please e-mail them to me.