A smellephant lives down the lane.
He’s got home cooking on the brain.

He cannot cook. He has four feet,
better for marching down the street.

Besides, he doesn’t know a pan
from the lid of a garbage can.

When his belly starts to rumble,
door-to-door, he’ll sniff and stumble

after potatoes and juicy roast,
or coffee and some eggs on toast.

Hear his trumpet, let him in,
or a trampling might begin;

of gardens, and of outdoor toys.
Don’t hide your food, or make a noise.

Just place it gently out the door,
so the smellephant will not roar.

He’ll gobble it in seconds flat,
then be as docile as a cat.

 

Forum Comments:The Smellephant
Image Credit:eric molina
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Jordan Trethewey grows older, wiser, and more ruggedly handsome in Fredericton, New Brunswick, Canada. He has authored the poetry chapbooks "Bathroom Stall Stanzas" (2012) and "Wishing on Satellites" (2016), the short story collection "Painfully Awkward" (2011), and a handful of stage plays. Email him @ jordantrethewey@hotmail.com, and he'll likely send you a .PDF of your choosing.

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