The Yowie

the yowie,
the monstrous ape demon
of Aboriginal legend,
lives in an airtight canister
made of glass and sleeps
in sterile solitude.
its eyes when open were portals
to a plane of hell,
but now, soft-lidded, dark and
sombre reflect deadness and
sad captivity.
it lived in farmers’ nightmares,
scaring dogs to death,
could jump into the upper branches
of the jarrah trees and
keep pace with speeding cars.
its hands, now folded, fingers curled
could crush tin sheds like soda cans
as it howled, screeched,
and sent mad the immobile victims
of its terrible rage.
now kids breathe on its ten-foot
translucent coffin,
playing and laughing,
and men once derided,
once mad
only shudder now in
wordless disgust—
the yowie,
the ape demon, is dead.

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can also donate some of your hard-earned dollars down below—that’s money to me, for free!

 

Gabriel Muoio

$1.00

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