My pet newt, Canute,
is far too minute
to hold back the tide
on its moon-inspired route.
Nor can he dispute
the ocean’s pursuit
of valley-bound towns
that once stood resolute.
But that’s nothing new
to my pet newt, Canute.
He knows his limitations.
My newt is minute.
If Man must pollute
and forget to salute
Mother Nature with all of her
cancers and fruit,
there’s no institute
that Canute can recruit
to save igloos. My newt
must stay neutral and mute.
He can’t even fish
in a pond full of loot.
He’s not a walrus,
my minute newt, Canute.
