Slapped By A Hippopotamus

Fourteen armadillos blaze across the pantry,
Carrying torches made of orchids and fire.
Horses made out of pancakes throw planks against the door.

You are here.
You are not here.
You are somewhat here.
You are disappearing.
You are reappearing.
You are eating a fragrant sandwich.
You are not here.
You are here.

Every day this routine repeats.
Every day I have to watch my cereal being devoured by wild hogs.
And the whole world watches as you disappear and reappear and become translucent and eat a sandwich.

I can almost see your digestive system.