Smallstone poem for the last day of January

Smallstones

As a boy I loved skimming grit.
Now that I’m a man I spread my picnic rug
by the smallstones so I won’t be overlooked
when having sex. I am an elf,
had a gallstone the size of half a pea
the surgeon said, wincing in empathy.
My sister is the Elizabeth Taylor
of the elven world. Her boyfriends
make me sick and even she found the pebble
Richard Burton gave her ostentatious.
There are no moss gatherers
in our universe, ethics are set in rockeries.
In elf terms, a stone’s throw
is a humanitarian disaster.