The unicorn's a welfare cheat,
selling flowers from a cracked clay pot
on a freeway off-ramp
he defends with his horn from all comers
The day declined, he clops home
horn hung low
to a Gold Rush-vintage stable
to a weather-worn stall
rented from a withered Faerie couple on Valium
Most nights they wind up all together
in front of the tube
drinking Meisterbrau
and watching All-Star Wrestling
The unicorn, in the center stall
tugs a ragged orange U-Haul blanket
over iridescent hair
sighs a little and
thinking of all those virgins
lets a saltless tear
slip into the sparse suds
©1986, 1997 Alan P. Scott. All rights reserved.
Last updated April 5, 2002.
Contact me:
ascott@pacifier.com