The sky is too blue
the clouds too blousey
the sea too itchy, too deep
the butterfly is wearing last year’s looks
the waterfall is too moist
the cactus, a fundamentalist
the rabbits, breed like rabbits
the hills are alive– or are they?
the seal is too body-positive (what about her health?)
the trees take up too much room in the tree museum
the moon is not the sun’s little brother, y’know
the stones could try harder
the corn, too corny
the bees, seem to think it’s all about them right now
the rain, inconsiderately wet
the foxes, nothing but skulking
the chickens, not road-safe
the lemmings, too metaphorical for their own good
the huia, had a death wish
the skinks, living in pavement cracks: is that even a thing?
the mosquitoes, literal blood-suckers
what about the flowers?
the flowers, so many over-perfumed dance moms
crowding around the edges of the stage.