As for me, I believe that snakes are God’s creatures, too, and trust that they think the same as me in relation to that Great Anaconda in the sky.
A soldier leaves so little when he dies. A watch they gave him when he left the office to go to war. A small pack of faded photographs. Some old letters in a mildewed leather wallet, stained with the sweat of him when he was living and the blood of him when he died.
Most journalists of my generation died early, succumbing to one or other of the two great killers in the craft – cirrhosis or terminal alimony.
The thylacine is now so rare,
It maybe isn’t even there.
Or if it is, it might well think
It’s safer to pretend extinct.