Choose a previous weeks' poem from the index on the left.
Lost And Found
Found locked in a museum’s box,
In all their splendid glories,
We introduce the dolphin-crocs,
Or, as we call them, Tories.
Perhaps we should have read it as
A message from the past:
That the time of super-predators
Will last and last and last.
Their teeth are strong, serrated,
And – this should give us pause –
They look as if inflated
And they’ve giant, hungry jaws.
Rather smart and rather sleek
They have escaped detection
Until discovered, late last week
In an undisturbed collection.
The pride of palaeontology,
The joy of necrophilia,
They lie without apology
And seem to be familiar.
Next time a neighbour jostles
You, and shows what has been hid,
And raves about new fossils,
Would you kindly close the lid.