This is a poem from the writing prompt: write about unicorns
When you give a unicorn a trumpet
Don't expect it to be polite.
For their horns were made for poking
And they're tasteless in the night.
You may tell him: Man,
It's only made for music.
He'll say: I don't have hands so
Don't you tell me how to use it.
In a restaurant, in candlelight,
He'll make you drop your knife.
In your bedroom masked in shadow
He will traumatize your wife.
A unicorn at any other time
Is a magical sight.
But when you see one with a trumpet
It's best to wonder on and say goodnight.
Chicago-born citizen of the globe, rich in the things that really matter. Let's get weird.