Of Cole Porter and unicorns

I’ve lost my unicorn again,
my sky-blue, silky unicorn
with the silver mane
and the hooves painted
a quite showy neon shade of pink

She was there this morning,
lounging under the kitchen table,
smoking an unfiltered Gauloise—
don’t ask me how she does that!—
and leafing through a glossy magazine
while I was brewing an espresso

Later she joined me in the shower
and hummed an old Cole-Porter-tune in my ears
with her odd-sounding tinkle-bell alto—
she does that sometimes,
which explains all the
holes in my shower curtain
and the wetblue patches
on the bathroom carpet

Later still, I got dressed,
put on my workday-face,
blew her an air-kiss and left her
to her Gauloises and her daydreams…
That’s the last I saw of her

Now I’ve looked on the window sill
where she likes to sunbathe;
I’ve looked in the sugar bowl
where she’s wont to slip in
whenever her blood sugar level drops—
or so she says—
but which is in fact each time it rains
or each time she gets bored;
I’ve looked under the bed
even it no one’s yelling outside;
I’ve looked in my wardrobe
where she loves to crease my white shirts
when she feels bolshy

but my skyblue, silky unicorn
is gone

I’m a bit worried now
for it’s been quite a while and
I am used to having her around,
even if I seem to lose her a lot

If you see her—skyblue, silky,
a unicorn as pretty as a unicorn can be,
which contrary to popular belief
is not very—
don’t feed her
(unicorns when munching
are a nasty sight),
but give me a call,
I’m in the telephone directory,
and while waiting for me to come,
tell her how much I miss her,
my silky, sky-blue unicorn

I’m sorry by the way
there won’t be much of a reward;
one of my half-finished novels maybe,
or she might hum you her favourite
old Cole-Porter tune
with her tinkle-bell
alto

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Of Cole Porter and unicorns