In a tree by the beach
lived a lecherous leech
named Coco Hobari McSteve.

McSteve believed
that a spot on his sleeve
held the secret the universe had pondered.

So anyone who wandered
by the tree or who squandered
a glance elsewhere was reminded.

That anyone who was blinded
certainly wouldn’t have minded
if it was done by that beautiful spot.

He said it a little
and he said it a lot
He told when it was cold
and he told when it was hot
But very few listened
and even fewer cared
that the spot looked a lot
like a duck that was scared.

McSteve thought this important,
kind of scarily so
and if you walked by the ocean
he would surely let you know.
He had all kinds of stories,
two legends and a myth
that explained the deeper meaning
of the stigmata he lived with.

I traveled from a far-off land
West of Can and east of Hat
to find Coco McSteve
and the tree where he lived at.
I had heard the stories of this spot
and the enlightenment it brought
but when I finally spied it
I found that it did not.

I climbed up in that creaky tree
and crawled out on my knees.
And when I glanced that hallowed spot I
realized it was cheese.
Some kind of spray-can cheese
a fleck, borne of untidy eating.
And when I told McSteve my thoughts
he thought that I was cheating.
But with a lick and then a shrug
there was no doubt—he knew.
And with no further ado
he went on to contemplate his amazing shoe.