Magnetic Island Koala
you might miss him
except the wind’s rustling
the fine white fur of his inner ears
setting it to wave in the blazing sun
just enough movement to expose a soul
he clings to the trunk
with black barbed toes
head sinking with each exhale
like a tired toddler in her car seat
incomparably fuzzy in a grey suit
that must be stifling hot this noon
his eyes are mere sunken dots
turned inward, shut and dreaming
one leg’s kicked up a bit
to steady his slumbering self
and when his jaw slackens
and his lips loosen in sleep
four yellow twisted teeth emerge
(oh my)
not befitting the rest of his form
rather like a handsome British lord
with disappointing dental work
in the end, however, charm prevails
