A man I knew who lived in Paris
Painted his apartment red.
It was, he said, the colour of the dead.
That was his special trick:
To turn a rainbow on its head.
Last week in the newspaper, I read
That his bath tub was flooded,
His waters were muddied,
His habits, like insects, were studied
Under a microscope
Through the bottom of a jar.
Magnified, he seemed enormous
Next week he will feature:
The world's last living creature,
Painting his apartment red.
The tin will run dry
And once his scaly skin is shed,
Tears may fall where he will tread.