UNDER THE BT TOWER

I am arrested,
no, lassoed,
brought-up long
by the sight of
a duck-egg blue
seahorse that’s
gone to extension
school, now racked
and loitering on a
sapling’s cage
outside a restaurant
promising ‘betta pitta’.

On further away inspection,
M. Pony de Mer turns
out to be a
camouflage
giraffe,
failing to
find spring
sustenance in the
trap he has sprung.

Operation Metaphor
sweeps one more
time to discover that
its colleagues in the
Simile Squad should
have been called out,
and now they are left
with a torn plastic
bag and a scene
of no purposeful
plurisignification.