In my 'unicorn kingdom'
all creatures shall be sovereign,
whether feral or domestic,
imaginary or real.
For I am crowned with backward horns
and a fuzzy wig between.
You will enjoy (and fund)
a tax-light, start-up ecosystem.
Beneath the sway of my tail,
beetles will breed high-growth companies
in the magical – and all too often
unattainable – dung.
While I gaze at the vanishing grass
oxpeckers eat my ticks;
may pick fresh wounds to drink the blood.
Unless they pierce my soft belly –
heavy with wealth – I shall not care:
for they have sworn allegiance.
Monarch of the swamp,
ruler of these rising waters,
I might not be the overlord
you had hoped for.
Seventy years is quite some age to loiter,
waiting to be anointed.
v. 2012
Dungheap Cockerel July 2023
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