2018 Sonnet 62

Burrow in the dark, beneath the surface.
We see his mounded trails beneath the grass.
Barely hidden, with trails easy to trace.
We picture him denying, bold and crass:

“Not my trail! You must have snakes! They want me!
Out to get me, ah, but I’m too clever!
They don’t love your yard. They want to haunt me!
Ugly! Wicked! Stupid! Catch me? Never!”

Little backward hands and teeth like razors.
Cute, in his own way, with those squinty eyes.
Goals in mind, if not in sight, like lasers.
Booby trap the yard with holes. Surprise!

He’s been here all along to dig that hole.
You thought he was a snake? He’s just a mole.

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