The Leopard Meets Portia de Rossi

By Emily Wright

He sneaks, and his legs creek

Because he is old

His spots fade to gray blurs

Whilst I shoot his young for furs.

My new shrug doubles as a rug.

I eat his meat;

The toenails get caught in my incisors.

I meet the president,

In my new shrug.

He steals it from me like Iraqi oil

And growls like the primate he is

He clubs Portia de Rossi

I shoot at his belt, it's made of felt.

No wait, its orange peels

I get some, and take Portia home with me

But I am still hungered

I tuck her in, because she is mortally wounded

God bless Dubya,

God bless America.

The End