In My Mind

A long-legged giraffe loped
through my head and asked
me, “What is the meaning
of life?” The best answer
I could come up with was 42.
He counted his spots, and found
there were exactly two-and-forty
marks on his hide. I smirked,
nodded, crossed my arms.
He tripped away.

An obese zebra dragged
itself with its front legs,
gasping and wheezing. He told
me I was going to die at age
twenty-four. I told him I knew.
I always knew.

A scaly snake slid through the gaps
in my mind and fell asleep,
dreaming of rabbits and goats
and chocolate bars. I did not understand
so I began to cry.