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.