He stood quietly,
or as quietly as 
mammoths stood,
munching breakfast
buttercups,
and died;
He was still there,
digesting,
twelve thousand years
after missing 
lunch.

His meat
was edible,
but the buttercups
had faded.


He stood quietly,
or, as quietly as
paleontologists stand,
munching breakfast
mammoth,
stuffed with buttercups,
and contemplated
Death
and efficient
refrigeration.

The rest, he sold,
on consignment,
to a fast-food chain
who wanted to sell
McMammoth.

The paleontologist --
sentimental paleontologist -- 
insisted they also make
McButtercups
for the founder
of the beast.

Everyone died rich
save the buttercups.

Thus the chain,
thus the binding,
thus the world,
standing quietly.

©  Copyright, 2000; Malcolm Beckett