The Sandsquatch

Have you heard about the Sandsquatch That used to live below beach sand Where it could spring out from its watch And get the upper wing, or hand To gobble up seagulls resting Surprising them from where they stood But often he was digesting Some nasty bits of driftwood Of course that old mythical lore When passed down seems hard to believe About that morbid seagull gore That plotline is hard to conceive Yet, Sandsquatch must have kept the birds’ Population from exploding Unlike those huge buffalo herds Before their tragic railroading It’s not far-fetched, there could have been The sporadic cave child or man Grabbed right from their ramshackle den If built on or nearby beach sand Yet ancient records have stated That after centuries went by That the poor Sandsquatch was fated To become meat in a stir-fry Because people became endeared To spending long days on beach sand Yet unexplainably disappeared As if the beach became quicksand Instantly Sandsquatch hunting groups Were assembled and thus comprised Of stalkers searching Sandsquatch poops That always led them to their prize There’s no ancient battles to watch Although we know how it ended With the extinction of Sandsquatch So sadly dying unfriended All resulting in crowded shorelines Of sunbathers and plentiful gulls With not one Sandsquatch danger sign Yet often crabs live in squatch skulls But maybe somehow, and someday When they assemble Sandsquatch bones That species may come back some way Or at least as a fetching clone