Epihuenium talks from the side of his face,
As his mouth has usurped both his ears from their place
And the ears joined his nose with a radical’s rage,
And declared to the nose that a war must be waged
To dislodge Epihuenium’s misplaced maw
And return it around to the front of his jaw.
Down low to the ground is the poor creature’s tail,
And it swishes and swashes and chats with the snails
Of the follies of nose, left ear, right ear, and mouth,
As the sticky shelled people turn tail and go south
Which is fine with the beast, who dislikes trav’ling west;
Epihuenium fears to wake Sun at his rest.