Eulogy for a Chipmunk

I saw you dying in the garden bed

you were not your frisky little self

hurry quick under the deck

cheeks puffed out with bird seed

I called you Chippy when I saw you

childhood joy of seeing a chipmunk

 

I buried you under the rhododendron

where other pets are now bones

you were my wild one

who came unannounced

wanting food

 

I was sad when Chippy died

but yesterday I saw three more

 

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open mike at dVerse

 

 

Eulogy for a Chipmunk

Crime

 

She told him to go but he demanded to stay

Hardly knew him yet he put hands on her

At first she was eager to get to meet him

Another sunny day in the mid town park

Trees lined the trail they twice had walked

Today was a different sobering event

as he pushed her into concealing brush

laid out on top of her hard and heavy

until the hatpin left her hat

blunged it straight through his back

into his heart and now a crime

 

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dVerse prompt using 1920s mugshot

Crime

Condition of the Soil

I have been away one year short of a decade.  There is lots of gardening to do.  It is not that a man can’t tend the garden.  Yes, men can mow, turn the soil, weed whack, uproot the invasive blackberry, chop up the fallen trees and fill the wood shed.  In a little corner plant some vegetables and prune the fruit trees.

 

My touch calms the plants, brings nourishment and mulch to their roots.  Old blooms are removed, dead branches clipped.  I tend to little things.  See a bug before it eats the whole plant.  Build a nursery bed and let seedlings grow.  Know the life cycle of a common weed and notice the small wild dogtooth violet and try to cultivate it.  Go beyond the obvious and hope he remembers.

 

force beyond control

found knee deep in the garden

speak of little things

Condition of the Soil