The Red Elephant
By John Herlihy

I
Call me mad,
Like a child sucking frosting on a wooden spoon.
I found a little stuffed elephant on my hotel pillow,
That I take on holiday in February and June.
I carry it in my pocket with my money,
With keys and identity card, there is still room.
I would no longer feel the same without it,
Like a flower that has lost its bloom.

II
It is made of cotton cloth and looks well fed,
Soft to the touch and dyed the color red,
Flecks of yellow and black ink
Make up an intricate design,
With white diamonds added to the mix,
As though the colors were trying to rhyme.
Its head sporting those funny floppy ears,
That wave in the wind across the years.

III
The trunk is raised up in expectation,
Its eyes the black heads from a pin.
The cloth tail like a banner unfurled,
As though ready to meet the world.
On its tail a knot tied tightly at the end,
To give the appearance of a dividend.
Why do I treasure this slip of a toy?
Why does it fill me with simple joy?

IV
I can’t rightly tell you the reason why;
When I say that, I am not just trying to be sly.
Enough to know it has feelings to show,
Enough to realize that it fills me with gusto.
When I travel, I take it with me wherever I go.
Its footsteps tread softly, moving like an ice floe.
The red elephant follows me, my companion in tow.
Who knows what good cheer it may yet bestow.