In Synch with the Skink in My Sink

I recently happened upon a small lizard, a skink I'm told, slinking about my kitchen sink. Frustrated and frazzled, he struggled mightily to escape, his little feet scratching but unable to get a grip on the shiny metal surface. These reptiles are fixtures here. They dart across walls – in my flat, in stores, churches, anywhere they might satisfy their appetite for small insects. They're equipped with feet that enable them to zip up ninety-degree inclines in search of food, which I hope and assume includes mosquitos. Hence, my complete willingness to share space with skinks!

I've no idea why, but for whatever reason – maybe the interminable U. S. presidential election campaigning (coupled with Zambia’s), my bout with malaria, or perhaps being deprived of seeing the explosion of northeastern fall foliage – this skink in my sink inspired me to compose a few (not so dirty) limericks. Consider this feeble attempt at creativity my contribution to ameliorating the effects of the faltering global economy. At least those who get paid to write (limericks?) can rest assured that I am no threat to their jobs! I hope that I have at least succeeded in communicating how we resolved the situation in my sink. Kids of all ages and my nine nieces and nephews especially, I invite your comments.

A skink I'll call Linc found himself in my sink
Did he think he could just help himself to a drink?
Slipping and sliding, he took finally to hiding
Til riding fly swatter seemed a much better tiding
Guiding Linc to send bugs to the brink

If only my sink had been zinc
Skink Linc might have climbed from my sink
No fraction of traction for all Linc’s great action
Required was a fly swatter extraction
Skink Linc now makes bugs blink in synch


I heard this weird clink in my slick metal sink
Could it be the skink Linc taking a drink?
The siding caused panicky slipping and sliding
But riding the swatter beat dipping and hiding
Skink Linc now slurps skeeters, plink plink