|PUBLIC DOMAIN PHOTOS: Credits appear below|
never saw it coming
(wrong place, wrong time), this
black masked bandit
crept from the dark,
stepped into headlamp glare,
rose up and froze, showing only
eyes – glinting light
at the height of a toddler;
too late to brake, insufficient space,
tight swerve, a percussive thud
(thump, lump in gut and throat)
catapulted to the curb;
only a moment of brief relief at the realization –
no child, but a beast, (nightly marauder,
pilferer of garbage cans and bird feeders) –
before traffic resumed,
cars once again passing without pause.
Everyone going somewhere…
else. (Too busy. Too late. Nothing to be done.)
Did any wonder what became of him?
stole things at night,
breaking and entering,
thinking (perhaps), no one would know or care.
It was cold, the house – warm, inviting.
Who would miss this
crust of bread, that
bit of chocolate? But
she was wrong; she didn’t belong here;
her welcome -- just an illusion.
The intrusion detected,
traps were baited, set,
She was snagged, bagged,
(still clinging, barely, to life),
and summarily disposed of.
Guilty. This squatter
did nothing wrong, only
set up housekeeping
outside in the open air,
beside my own back door.
Huge, hairy, scary and
a tad too close for comfort.
Silken lines stretched, spanned
from window to basement bulkhead.
This would never do, so
heavy handed with an aerosol can
(staying a wary distance away)
I dispatched the intruder,
leaving the body dangling –
not bold enough
to approach so close.
Regrets came later.
(They always do.)
Penned for Creative Bloomings prompt #145: Nothing for Granted
Public Domain photo credits: