I shiver and quiver as I hit the river.
I sink fast. Curses!
Then I emerge from the drink and surface.
The pain of being discarded burns less as I bob down the stream.
This river is mobbed but it turns out I’m part of a team.
Floating nearby my buddy suffered a similar fate.
As we converse we’re not irate, but then our pupils dilate as there’s rocks ahead.
We form a plan fast lest we both end up splintered and dead.
By the Power of Pooh Sticks we form a raft, with time to spare to fashion a mast.
But I’m no stranger to danger, I know what lies ahead.
My eyes narrow as I fill with dread.
Like goddamn wet, shaggy logs they’re more dangerous than any rocks.
But the river’s getting rapid and ahead lie bendy drops.
Mini waterfalls that even a mad mongrel won’t face.
Those stupid mutts know their place.
Drifting along the river morphs into the sea and my buddy and me know not what to expect.
What fate awaits us in the ocean’s depths?
Whatever it is we’re optimistic, given those darn dogs left us pretty twisted.
However… The Power of Pooh Sticks will keep us safe, as we explore the ocean’s vast space.
Next time you see us we’ll be bigger in size and scope, our twiggy raft having grown beyond our wildest hopes.
Festooned with barnacles, which, let’s face it, would be pretty cool.
So if you ever find yourself on a raft adrift at sea, spare a thought to its origins.
Discarded Pooh Sticks that came from a tiny stream.