At least the canoers are gone
And the old couple of duck feeders
The geese are reviewing the V formation
Young’uns still practicing take offs and landings
Swans are still strutting about the pond
The coyotes are calling audibles at dusk
Turtles quietly sequestering themselves
Dusk is quieter now
The hum of insect wings silenced
No bullfrog echoes ripple the pond
The sting of November lurks in the woods
An old Muskrat sighs
in darkness we all look the same ~ pawns can capture a king in the game
elephant president with crooked tusks ~ wears the fetid scent of musk
find the kryptonite to end his mad reign ~ America is in pain
DODGE, the felon ~ the Department of Donald Glorifying Elon
to snuff the flames of a gas lighter ~ the world would be so much brighter
I think he is old, someone said.
Why?
Because he has a cane.
He is young, argued another. He is short.
My grandma is short, and she is old.
My grandma is tall.
He has a funny face.
I don’t think he’s human.
They weren’t wrong.
He was a muskrat with a cane.
A wise one who understood English.
They are young, he told himself. Don’t take offense.
Who is she? We wondered as she pranced around foraging for carrion.
She is a blue-eyed witch I think.
The BEW turns and stares at me; she looks like a wild muskrat cat faerie.
I am terrified, for I have never met such a creature.
She appears to be royalty.
I stop eating my mouse and offer it to her.
She gobbles it up and then stares.
She is a beauty, but a tyrant.
I run, hoping she is not chasing me.
Cats like this break your back and start with your head.
Brilliant for sure
Perhaps an enigma
Monotony’s cure
Cultural stigma
Secure transactions
Visions of Mars
Free-speech imperatives,
Self-driving cars
Staunch libertarian
Doge crypto bump
But buying a Tesla?
That’s voting for Trump
A muskrat is on my porch, sneaking around.
I have caught a glimpse of parts of it, but today I saw it.
In its ugly wholeness. Except maybe it is not a muskrat.
There is no ugly muskrat-like tail.
It is as big as two rats, big ones, and it has dark fur.
The fur looks a little scruffy. It is short and fat.
I did not see its eyes, but I saw its corpulent body as it ran.
Not off the porch but toward the screened in porch where it lives.
That is great news, as this is where the dog-door is also.
It is not a muskrat anymore, because I looked it up.
It is a groundhog, which might explain the burrow holes in my porch.
I have put a live trap out with oranges, but it is too smart for the trap.
I said to my husband, why are the dog and cat allowing this to be here?
They get too much food, he told me. They have their little friends.
I looked at the opossum and the raccoon, feeding on cat food.
“Is that right?” I asked them. They both sneered, ignoring me too.
Muskrat Meat
Muskrat and french-fries, the criss-cross cut kind
Not exactly the meal most folks have in mind
The potatoes are easy, just cut them and fry them
The muskrat not so much, folks seldom do try them
They are sort of like chickens; no feathers just fur
Both have to be plucked before cooking for sure
They’re best cooked in wine, the more wine the better
And make sure you keep your dry throat even wetter
If cooked with the head, put an onion in there
If the head is misplaced, in the rat’s derriere
The four little legs you tuck under its belly
And take out the guts if they’re cooked they are smelly
At 400 degrees and covered with foil
With a pan underneath to catch muskrat oil
In an hour or so the skin starts to glow
Uncover the rat – turn the oven down low
Sprinkle with pepper and perhaps garlic salt
If it’s not to your liking it’s not really your fault
The recipes skimpy your stomach is weak
The cook when he wrote it had his tongue in cheek
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