The Wicker Bug

A tiny wicker flange
Of our woven basket
Detached itself, a branch
Lying on the terrace.

But no trick could mask it,
No twisted, covert,
Frantic stunt
Could spare us

From the dinosaur
That lay inert before us
On the sandstone floor,
Ashen gray and splintered.

It was a garden lizard,
Camouflaged as rattan,
Gnarled and disfigured,
Although as romantic

As it no doubt figured,
A gargoyle fallen
From its perch,
As credible in death

As our immobile hamper,
Less agile in its search
For range and breadth
Than our diminished wizard,

Our contorted straw man,
His desires scissored
Between a chameleon
And the all too human.

June 10th, 2020
Kailua