He woke up with four legs.
He wasn’t entirely sure why or how, but he embraced it.
He took himself for a walk, had a wee on a tree and slept in the front room.

He woke up with eight legs.
He wasn’t entirely sure why or how, but he embraced it.
He climbed up the door frame, spun a web and slept beneath the moon.

He woke up with sixteen legs.
He wasn’t entirely sure why or how, but he embraced it.
He scuttled up a tree, curled up on a leaf and slept in a cocoon.

He woke up with two wings.
He wasn’t entirely sure why or how, but he hated it.
He refused to fly, snapped them off and slept until the end of time.

© Carl Burkitt 2017