You paint yourself blue,

all dinosaur prints

and the worry of trolls

eating farmyard goats.

I tell you the fences are strong,

even if the trolls offered good money,

the lady at the gate would never let them in.

You nod at the common sense of this.

I do not say how there is so much

that I cannot keep on the other side.

Not when there are tiny trolls

growing inside of me.  Their teeth

of uncertain sharpness and tests

still to be done to see if they will

stay under their bridges

or come creeping out at night

after the lights go out.