Email Poem

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Poem

Placed strategically close 
to suburban hedgerows,
elderly backyard mavens 
nourish generations of groundhogs.

Daily the grass is seeded 
with 'Puffcorn Delites,'
bought wholesale from Costco, 

An elderly lady died last year. 
I see her at night,
as I take out the trash; 
a small possum-like shadow.

The ladies seem to me 
to grow more like the marmots,
and I wonder if I will ‘turn’ any time soon.
I think I could live quite comfortably
as a whistle-pig.

I dreamed that the widowed ladies
had put a spell upon our local critters.
By some manner of black-arts
had married themselves to woodchucks 
and other medium sized mammals.

The late bewitched Mr. Mason 
has dug a cubby hole
from which he peers 
myopically each evening.
Archie Smith stays 
amid the shrubbery
where he can read
the odd moonlit almanac.
Fred scratches his head 
with a rear claw
contemplating eternal vows.

They show up at mealtimes.
Furred paws in tartan slippers 
shuffle at back doors.
Herbal tobacco scents night airs.
A grey whiskered fuzziness
permeates the Autumnal evening.

Do I wake or sleep?
The widows lay their heads near
to this enchanted nether land;
snore in harmony
with their nearby furry loves.
All here snuggle close
to the roots of this
mist conjuring season.

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