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A Plea to the Dry Guys
Moving like moonlight
I am the OG silver surfer
Fleshwalkers, Dry Guys, Land Livers,
Have been around for,
What, 300,000 years?
Try 20 million years.
We eat stingrays.
Literally. For breakfast.
I have a 360 degree field of vision.
What's directly in front of me?
Don't ask.
Listen, Humanoids,
I'm delivering this plea
To your nearest post office.
Luckily I found a stamp
With my photo on it.
The plea is:
We are different from the other sharks
(Uhh: other sharks don't use post offices)
And are undeserved of their
Ruthless, roguish, reputation.
Yes, we are younger
Than our arrow-headed brethren
(Just 400 million years younger.)
But our brains are bigger.
Evidenced by our lack of interest
In Walky-Talky interaction.
Check your stats.
Us Real Heads are considered
"Shy" among you. Right.
You wouldn't believe
The number of karaoke
Joints down here.
The moon now
Has dipped down
From the world of air
While the sun has made it's rise.
I'm starting to tan in the shallows
A tad too much for my taste.
Stay safe, sentient skin slickers!
I must be one my way now
At 20-25 miles per hour.
Copyright ©
Matt Caliri
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