The Sloth

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Michael M. Lederman
Daniel R. Kuritzkes

Abstract

I nearly saw a three-toed sloth

I really hoped to see one

But as I crept up on the beast

He sped off like a demon

 

How did this lazy fellow do it?

My legs were gelled, encased in suet

Insensate speed was needed now

That wily sloth could sprint, and how!

I called upon my last reserves

To stay with him through streams and curves

He would not give this race a rest

Just like those hounds of Budapest

His limbs a blur, his eyes agleam

His ears pressed back, his goggles seem

To mask his real intent, his dream

To master speed and be the Dean 

Of hustle.

Article Details

Section
Poetry