Brontosaurus

It isn’t true what we were taught
and we all thought
and thought about,
that prehistoric brontosaurus ,
had a tiny brain in its tail,

a sort of coxswain, shouting

thrash left thrash right;
with violence, with panache, 
with purpose,
with discernment, precision,

through a tiny yellow megaphone,

or brilliantly enough to rock the giant
side to side to side
on its four stubby pedestals
like a police car.

And when to take a break
and just slide along
across Wisconsin,

thereby freeing the tiny head,
as it pierces the lush canopy,
for loftier matters,
like nibbling high leaves,
screeching its preeminence,
sniffing at the mist,
and the meaning of life.