On the Loch
Every Friday after work,
we feed the Loch Ness
Monster, who purrs to shore,
slinking through water.
We picnic in our grey daily gear,
graze on fish ‘n’ chips,
and chew over futures
rare as Jurassic snapshot.
We ignore the signs – Please
don’t feed into the myth –
to hand Nessie hot chips.
Her scales bunt against palms.
Yes, plesiosaur. We believe
in the wake she casts that scatters
ducks and seagulls, who concede
their share of chips. And though
we know it’s not done to spoil
the diets of wildlife, we figure if
she’s lasted this long on the whiff
of rumour, then like us she deserves
this weekly taste of real existence.
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