Dodos Bite Back

Its endemic feet traipse
on the clothesline spliced
to hang our family size peace,
abraded nonetheless.

My sister is found later
inside the car
James hotwires from the Good Garage.
Pop threats both with
a senile gun last fired in a fib
about a war in Far East.

Mother plagues the array of porcelains.
I turn from them, see
the Dodos leaving a bite deep
in the sky,
its body Cheshire all but those feet.