There he squats upon his haunches
Til a fresh attack he launches
On the provender I water, weed and hoe.
He is not at all disdainful,
He is very uncomplainful,
Eating anything at all I try to grow.
He is pert and he is sassy;
He has ears designed Jaok-assy,
And he puts my temper out upon a limb;
To make him more terrific,
He was born to be prolific
(I suspect, sometimes, there’s eight or ten of him.)
He’s a devil, he’s a dog;
He’s a wild fur-bearing hog
Who stops eating when he’s fed, and that is never.
When he moves, he leaps and lunges,
And his acrobatic plunges
Are to show that cotton-tail he thinks is clever.
So, I’m getting out the rifle,
And I draw a bead a trifle
Back of where his watchful eye’s regarding me.
Then it is my wife and daughter
Save his blasted hide from slaughter:
“You’re a nasty man to shoot him–leave him be!”
Which is why, secure, he lunches
On my tender shoots in bunches
Without a thought of work, or thanks, or fee;
And so, helplessly, I stand
With my temper well in hand,
And watch him thumb his twinkling nose at me!
by Ray Romine Monday, July 10, 1950
