The Menace

Night 3
It’s still in my garden.
It’s back with a vengeance.
I can it see it there, lurking:
face black and white, its tail mocking.
Three nights in a row now.
The eyes and the fur and the scraping claws.
I sit, wrapped and waiting with furrowed brow.
It knows I know it’s there, this creature of the night.

Night 5
It was here again. It trampled my flowers!
This sickness, this thing, this worm, leaving
dirty tracks that litter the path like guilt.
I plan a bonfire. Perhaps then it’ll burn.
Sometimes I can sense it in the morning
but it comes alive at night, nocturnal and slick,
slithering in when I’m alone, this creature of the night.

Night 10
There were a few evenings of bliss -
after night six it seemed to scarper.
But yet again it rose its head making me its martyr.
The pyre’s still smoking, wafting smoke signals,
warning this creature of the night.

Morning 11
I’ve never understood why these beds are made just for one
when visiting hours are for the purpose of more than one.
Its sheets are plural, as are pillows not one but always two,
my little buzzer’s buttons, the hours of free TV: they both are two.
Most people here have tubes, some dual, some three,
at least one in and one out and some more around feet, like my three.

Night 12
It’s like it just knew
tonight I needed rest,
but it snuck and it scratched,
upon my slumber it latched,
this growing, never shrinking mass.
I trace back the months, recalling when it was born,
this creature of the night.

Afternoon 13
The man at the store looked like I was crazy,
would he rather a bore, someone who gave up?
I asked for a trap, some feed and some bags,
I gave the garden a lap, finding the perfect spot.
It’s all set up, tonight I’ll linger and watch,
this poison chalice and cup, and a crude metal hug.
My husband’s head shakes, my eldest just laughs
as the evening meal bakes, and I tell them my plan.

Morning 14
It took the damn food!
The trap left wide open!
"I’ll get it yet!" I curse.
It will have its hearse,
this creature of the night.

Night 20
My family celebrate. I’m in remission.
My husband smiles: no more tubes, no more incision.
They cook for me, play music inside.
Cards, chocolates, flowers. Joy people can’t hide.

Outside, I stand in the garden
and see the trap has now worked.
I lift its limp body, 
dig where it once lurked.

This menace came into my garden, 
it invaded my home.
I fought but the battle was not mine alone.

I crouch by the body, just me and it:
my creature of the night.

Copyright © Thomas Harrison | Year Posted 2022

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