A Fight To the Death

A brownie slid slowly, no rustle, no noise, Slid slowly, through the front door. Invisible to all, an imperceptible ghost, Slid slowly across the room floor. The dog barked, ferocious, and snapped, At the nothing that was now in my sight. I walked, obtuse, with a spade in my hand, At the nothing, prepared for a fight. The dog lowered, froze, no noise, not a thing, Staring, ready, at the vintage farm bed. And I stood poised to fire, erupt and explode, Staring, ready, to chop off its head. I stood bare foot with a singlet on top, And I knew I was maybe too drunk. I felt still, an odd calm, when it shot at my leg, And I severed its head from its trunk. A brownie slid slowly, no rustle, no noise, In my farm house, to meet its new fate. That night was a lovely cooking experience, In my farm house, browned snake on a plate.