Elizabeth, I must say,
Pan wasn’t raising Cain among the reeds.
He had taken off his mask,
& was lying there, puffing ganja,
Blowing Rasta smoke rings
& nibbling on a golden mango,
When he glimpsed three naiads
Prancing beside the lily pond.
Already have an account? Log in
Join KR for even more to read.
Sign up for a free account and read any five pieces a month.
Next