Plump Skink I Think

I was used to skinks
from the Sierra Nevada--
thin lizards, flashes
of liquid blue and black,
gone to brush in a blink.

So this gray-brown,
blue-tongued skink
I saw draped over
a zoo-keeper's hand
had me staring. Body
like an obese gila monster's.
Chubby back legs. Tiny
forward flailings were
only almost arms. Blue
Tongue had a mock-croc
top of the head, sincere
eyes, and--from an unseen
place of coiling, a long
lingual lariat of blue, a book-mark
in one of Evolution's
favorite volumes.

That tongue, it scares
off predators. Mr. BT
cracked that azure whip
a lot and spun its almost-
arms. Protested in
the zoo-keeper's soft hand.
To no avail. He became morose.
So did we. Empathy.
We moved on and the keeper
returned BT to small
heaven of privacy somewhere
on the grounds, somewhere
in the millions of skink years.


hans ostrom 2020

Leopard Slug

Why hadn't you seen that kind of slug
before?  Limus Maximus. Irresponsible
of you, really. Nutmeg
speckles on a pond-gray body that looks like
a liquid bean pod. Of course
there were the pale, knobbed antennae
for listening to quick
tunes on Slug Radio.

Across an expanse of concrete
moved the mollusk, not a crawl
but a patient glide. You didn't have
all day to watch it and anyway
too much slug observation
creates a strange pathetic mood.


hans ostrom 2018

Fowl Dreams

If I were a bird,
I'd ride on air and often
cock my head for different
angles. At night I'd close
my eyes from the bottom,
snooze on a roost,
and rest my beak.

Anything with a brain
dreams. Oh, imagine--
you can try: what
kind of dreams do
birds dream, and why?

Maybe they dream
of staying still and having
food come to them.
Maybe they dream
of the time when they
were dinosaurs.



hans ostrom 2017

"Salamander Confession"