Other reasons I am not a poet.
My mouth brings you disease and fury as my whole life has moved me north. I have no road map. I know not where I go and yet I keep moving. I do not have Google maps as I am an armadillo and I have no computer. I have no GPS. I have no driver that guides me. I have leprosy and I need compassion to my plight of flight.
I am an armadillo.
You think I am roadkill, yet my life is not this simple. I just want to move. I want to roam. My enemy is tire and asphalt and deception.
And yet you think I am nothing, but I deceive you. My mouth is anger and I am armored. I am watching you as you don’t watch me. We are legion. We are watching you from the bushes and the fields and the streams and the roads.
We are here in the land of Elvis and Dolly and where Johnny Cash called his home. We are here.
My mouth is full of rage.
And we bring you nothing because you give us nothing back. My mouth is filled with danger.
Do not make a chip and dip cup out of my body, because I will live forever. I will remember. If you eat salsa out of my skeleton and my back, I will send my children and their children and their children to remind you.
I am learning, as are you. And I will roam, hide and watch.
I am more than you think I am.
Armadillo poetry is not a hot seller.