What Good is a Wounded Cougar (first draft)

Found it!
Criticisms, cynical laughs, put-downs, hootin' and hollerin', and comments are very welcome; NAY, they are...encouraged.
A comment I myself would like to make is that it appears (again, I haven't looked at this poem in months) that I became stuck in an infinite loop of asking endless silly questions, in some sort of the-half-brother's-cousin's-transvestite-college-roommate's-neutered-stepfather's-hypoallergenic-cat's-former-owner's-twin-sister of Shel Silverstein...style.


What Good is a Wounded Cougar
What good is a wounded cougar?
What good is a hole-y boat?
Or a midget giraffe, or fingerless gloves
Or a castle's one-foot-three-inch moat?

What good is a polar bear without the white?
What good is a driverless Mercedes Benz?
What good are the moons and the skies and the stars
If cracked, broken, and smashed is my telescope lens.

What good is a beaver without his sharp teeth?
What good is a gardener without his grass?
What good is sand, heated, thousands of degrees?
(Well actually, then, you've made glass).