Minky

Minky

Who is this Minky? Do you want to know? Who is he or she?

Well let me tell, if you still want to know. He or she is a he.

He was born late at night, in a hut in the province of Trink

In a planet, a billion miles away, called the planet of Squink.

On the warm night he was born, the three moons of his planet

With funny names of sorts, Aphrodite, Marigold and Janet,

In the cloudless and humid sky, had faces like wide smiles

As if grinning at the lovely sound of baby Minky’s cries.

His hair was curly and sparse, as he arrived to the outside

A sombre tinge of purple it was when the sunlight had died.

And into a bright orange it transformed, as soon as it passed

That the dark, ever cyclic night had evolved to the time called past.

Fingers on his two little hands were as different as can be

Compared to our five earthling digits, they were all but of three.

Akin to the shape of a mitten they so very much appear

Weirdly webbed between spaces, with curt nails as amber as beer.

The very shape of his three eyes may seem weirder than you think

Especially as they look huge and as long as a brick.

Eyes of all Sqinklings, like Minky, change into all different hues

At times, deep red, then mild brown, then so soft yellow then light blue.

Call it what you ever desire, if it so pleases you.

But his oblong ears they strike me as the cutest of views.

Do they hear straight away? Or does he wait till he grew?

As soon as he’s born, it’s as simple and as plain as it’s true.

The Milky Way, our galaxy’s name, someone had given.

But can you guess what they call where Minky is livin’?

I bet you’d never guess in ten or a zillion hours.

Minky Way, its name, yes Sir; not that far removed from ours.

For years Minky was fond of where his name originated

When he went to his school, his fondness was obliterated.

Poor dude, unfortunate he now felt to be called Minky

For some kids of his age, would tease, chant and call him “Hey, Stinky.”