Fat Body Faker

While traversing an ill marked trail
A fat body faker stood in the way.
With his tail raised high and his eyes glaring
That signature sound of sand against plastic
Signaled his presence. Closer inspection
Reveled the truth hidden by that false rattle tail:
No rattlesnake, but still just as deadly.

A few pictures for souvenirs aid jokes and
Retellings of how we walked past slithering death.
“He came at us!”
“He was waiting there when we
Doubled back!” Wide eyed, slack jawed
Strangers and family members nod, agree,
Even shake their heads at the encounter
With the American Copperhead.

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Vengeful Gray Sky

Smothered by a steel gray blanket
Encasing machine and life in its embrace;
Winter without the whipping cold.

Heavy drops splatter across the view
Angry red lights, screeching tires.
Waves splash outward, hydroplaning cars.

Crawling after recovery, panic rising
Who will squeeze and nose through?
Who will react and slam bumpers?

Danger escalating with each passing minute
A ray of light, a reprieve from the vengeful sky
Relieves the pressure. All relax into the drive.

The Weekend of Meet the Breed

Winding down from
Greetings and explanations-
“Come see the AHT!”

“Oh, is this like the Xolo?”
Questions and answers
Passed back and forth.

Only a few people matter
Judges need some education
In matters concerning breed

Conformation-qualifications of
Faults versus acceptable traits.
Correct information is better than falsifications.

The weekend of breed booths
One long showcase of various dogs
Is at long last over

And finally normality
Can resume the broadcast
Of babysitting and reading.

An Evening Filled

The whine of a needy puppy
Faintly sounds from across the house.

Insistent drip, drip, dripping;
A reminder of jobs left unfinished.

Nails frantically hitting metal:
The ringing bell of a dog wanting out.

Wooden creaks and groans,
Constant shifting weight as pen meets page.

Mechanical drone pervades the silence:
A wordless announcement of, “We are still here.”

This is an evening filled with waiting
For the disturbance to break this stillness.

Anger’s Black Rose

A black rose
with a stem
full of thorns
bloomed rapidly as Anger’s seed rose from
the Mind’s Field.

Memories act as the catalyst, burning the green field,
laying waste to happiness
and setting the stage
for the thorn bush to
propagate.

After some deliberation,
a spark
of recognition
halts the continual
watering from within.

A foreseeable urge
to pick the blackened rose;
a bow
in acceptance
and acknowledgment:
the plant withers away,
content with the response.

Retake Control

Emotional haywire without a kill switch
Openly on the premises.

Fear, anxiety overtaking all
Systems up high and down below.

Swimming in the pool, drowning
Without the inner life raft.

These feelings abruptly came in an instant
Only to leave after tormenting the mind, the body.

It is nice to see you again my erratic mental self;
Was it nice to retake control yet again?