When Mastodons Roamed the Earth

I was feeling rather feeble,
you had me by the trunk.
I kept thinking of times long past,
when mastodons roamed the earth—
and life, for them and for me,
was so much simpler.

To start with, there were no:

hoons driving at 235 km on public roads;
football scores or updates;
red light districts to distract a man;
governments or policies or police or regulations;
brain surgeons;
soup du jour;
massive bills for consuming water, electricity, gas;
force-fed geese;
ads on free to air;
fucking red lights;
plasma screens;
poets dreaming;
nor—love.

But, there were plenty of mastodons,
and their role in life, their casual ordinary everyday routine, was to:
nuzzle up to each other,
in their mastodonic fashion—
to kiss and fuck each other,
to make more mastodons.

And then those mastodons went out to graze,
and they held their peace and they held their trunks—
and life was nothing more
and frankly, nothing less,
than roaming across fertile sucking tundra—
and eating frozen grass.

And then, if they were lucky,
they got a kick up the arse.


Allan Padgett (Western Australia)