Thing or Two

Pretty soon

we’ll be telling bird 

when to get the early worm, 

showing voles 

where to hollow the earth, 

how boring holes into tunnels 

is superfluous. 

High time, too, that monarchs 

are remonstrated 

for their geometry-

non-conforming flight patterns.

And the garden tulip,

deserving every tsk tsk tsk

of admonishing sweetness,

call it incorrigible 

for not evolving to retract

down its shooty cocoon

to avoid the salad-bar chomp 

of the occasionally

trespassing deer or bunny.

Speaking of—will 

the hopping and the hooved

ever learn that lot line 

permeability is a privilege 

of the flying* and the subterranean?

Surely it’s up to us

to post such directives.

That asterisk, may it be known, 

is for the songless fliers,

those sans chirp, trill or whistle. 

Buzzing and whining—you can’t 

tell them nothing. Let us 

voice our displeasure,

then, with swat, slap and 

the serpent silence of aerosol.

That’ll teach them

a thing or two.

Don’t even get me started 

on the needling

inequity of no-see-ums, 

or the brunette strand of the together-working 

sugar ants t-boning 

the threshold in the backdoor.

Bearing in mind this 

fledgeling litany is 

a beginning born 

from the limited scope of 

doing yard chores.