My photo
United Kingdom
These are the things I know.

A Bedtime Story - How Platypus got her Name

Once upon a time there was a person. Almost.

She was the most beautiful,

the most powerful,

the strongest,




of all the almost people in His kingdom at that time.

But she was too good,

too everything,

too much.

On the day of her ripening

He called her to His house and stooped

to kiss

His almost daughter


But this was not a father’s kiss.

He forced His tongue into her mouth

led her to kiss Him back

and embraced her

between His


His chin dripping with her flapping flesh

as He hawked out the first chuck of her.

The slag

fell in a heap

on stone far

below. Spattered

into worms that turned

rock into Earth.

He took the time to practice his Chinese burn,

twisted flesh from bone.

He spread her by the ankles,

slit her a gash

He made a wish,

flung her drumstick legs

which choppered




Yet where they fell a tree

shed leaves to dress her wound.

And He was angry with that tree,

would not allow sides to be taken

and called out ‘Sycamore!’

which cursed that tree with seeds the spitting

image of her butchered limbs.

The almost person’s sweet chestnut eyes

yielded to the fury of His thumbs,

plopped out and popped

up as another tree

who kept them in a mace from Him

and won

the name


from Him.

Little by little her almost body was disposed


No matter

how barbaric his actions

He could not erase Her.


He placed his hands in prayer

around her head and squeezed flat.

His hard breathe in her ear hole

sent sound swirling in all directions

through the now

almost forest.

And where it brushed the tree tops?


And where it clattered through branches?


And where it skimmed the soil?


Everywhere the almost person parts touched?


For many days her black blood flooded.

But the trees preserved her from the deluge

until her bleed ceased.

Once the flow stemmed the clotted Earth


Rising, spreading, the almost person

hauled her nonself to the riverbank and came face

to nonface with a duck’s bill, slapping and slurping

as if Duck had never been.

The once beautiful put it on

and at last voiced what had been tongue less ‘till now:


And no quack had ever conveyed more

feeling, more


He heard and looked, but could not see

that the bodiless bill was possessed:

“Who’s there?”

Duckbill, the almost person

bit her tongue.

He shrugged

his almost shoulders unable

to shrug off the hint of a babble.

Duckbill pulled at clods and sods to the almost water.

Eager and impatient for her very first time

the once too good laid

waste to a pair of swans.

Unable to defend themselves against beak

their beauty was ruined.

The almost person salvaged feet

and although ugly, made better

time, but was


Finally, a Beaver’s body,

with no chance against beak


was overwhelmed

slipped on.

Whole now but mad


her shape frightened


under the world.

After a long time she was discovered there:

“Tell me creature, who are you?”

Duckbill strained to make words:



And her desire to change shape,

to become


was misheard as


No comments:

Post a Comment

Tell me what you think