The Armadillo

There was an armadillo. The armadillo sneezed, And a little sprig of grass Was carried by the breeze. The little sprig of grass Was blown to and fro, Until it landed gently On a construction worker’s clothes. He wriggled and he squirmed To satisfy the itch, But clearly more was needed Than a subtle shoulder twitch. He waved his arms about him, Trying to reach his back, And the buzz saw he was holding fell With a crunching loud whack! It sheared his legs and kneecaps And though bleeding wanted more; It spun around in circles And cut into the floor. The worker swiftly fell With a very short-lived roar As the story he’d been standing on Fell through the next few floors. The stress and strain of breaking Caused the supporting wood to creak, And like a house of cards it fell With a thunder far from meek. The people watched in horror As the towering building leaned, But only when it plunged towards them Did any think to scream. That building fell on others In the crowded cityscape, And tower after tower fell In metropolitan rape. The terror and the sorrow Would last for years and years, And only time would ever stem The annoying, ceaseless tears. There was one thing, however, That only two beings knew: A chaos theorist and an armadillo And a tiny nose that blew.