Vermin

Standard

The spider in the corner,

Of my dorm,

Foreigner,

Hoarder,

With web in disorder.

If I were shorter,

I’d steer clear,

And try not to vear,

Into his hunting gear.

He’s well-equipped,

Works from home,

And quite strict,

When prey roams,

Toward his crypt.

The monster,

Stands,

A stone’s throw away,

Saunters,

On silken-strands,

He’d be easy to slay,

With a magazine,

But that’s mean,

And I’d have to clean,

After.

He keeps,

His heaps,

Tidy,

And tiny,

So I’ll let him stay,

Maybe.

Obligate Carnivore

Standard

I crouched low, and felt the grass rustle up against my empty stomach.

I’m very good at this; it’s what I was born to do.

There stood a hare, ears swiveling, back to me. It hopped toward a red flower.

I’ve never gotten one of these before; they’re supposed to be a lot of trouble to catch.

I couldn’t take my chances, so I used a slower approach than normal.

Right paw first, I slowly tamped down the grass so that it didn’t make a sound.

The hare picked its head up and tore the flower out of the ground; its ears scanned the surroundings.

I took another step.

The hare sat motionless.

I grew impatient, but slowly continued. My tail flowed with the wind.

The hare suddenly stopped eating, sat on its haunches.

I dropped into the grass.

It turned and walked toward another patch of herbs growing near tall grass, all the while the bulb dangled from its mouth by a length of disappearing stem. Still hungry.

When I felt sure it was occupied with eating again, I arched my back and moved forward again.

The hare dropped to the ground and folded his ears.

Now was my time to strike, his guard was down.

I bounded off, eyes widened.

He clearly sensed something, his ears popped back up but he didn’t move a muscle.

I was closing in.

Mouth agape, arms outstretched, claws extended, I leaped toward my prey.

In turn, he jumped straight into the air.

I hit the empty spot where he was and bounced a bit, then he fell onto my back with a sharp “thud,” and knocked me into the dirt on my side.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing much.”

“Not funny,” the hare said with a flick of his nose, “you caught me at a bad time.”

I hissed. He held my legs down, I was pinned.

“But I’m going to be nice,” he said.

I couldn’t do much else but listen, my stomach growled audibly.

“If you promise not to chase me, I won’t have to embarrass you.”

“I’m pretty fast,” I said.

He held his chin high, “sure you are,” he said.

I leaned forward and bit at his neck. Force of habit.

He bobbed out of the way then put his front legs on my head, kicked my face and jumped off of me.

“Last chance,” he said. The field behind him was wide open.

I looked down and noticed some dandelion seeds stuck to my fur. I licked them off and looked at him.

The hare sat staring.

“Choose wisely,”

I jumped suddenly; he ran underneath me and disappeared into the tall grass, yelling obscenities.

Now he’s done it! I dug my claws into the ground and spun around.

The tall grass extended out into the distance.

My stomach gurgled again.

It might go against my nature, but I think I’ll just cut my losses this time.

Hydraulic Jump

Standard

A sudden rise,

In the babbling whitewater,

Runs backwards,

And defies,

The established,

Instability.

Jets spray,

Tourists paddle,

A bear,

Straddles a boulder,

Waiting for trout,

To breach,

Into its open snout,

If it can reach.

The inflatable raft,

Glides over,

The aerated stream,

Rapids,

And drop-offs,

Turning with the bends,

Instead of against them,

Even when they seem to be going,

No place,

It’s not a race,

Just a vacation.

Boston Dynamics

Standard

Years ago,

What was just depiction,

We now know,

Is not fiction.

Mechanical animals,

Seemed laughable,

Impractical,

But now they’re factual,

Downright palpable,

But not infallible.

They’re slow and loud,

Too pricey to make crowds,

Not even endowed,

With body shrouds.

Limbs twisted,

Moving pistons,

Exposed systems,

Soon to be,

Big business.

Mechanical mules,

Climbing like cats,

In need of fuel,

That isn’t grass.

Leash Laws

Standard

A savage wolf’s power,

Is rendered meaningless,

By a retractable red chord,

In the same way,

That a yellow Labrador’s,

Truck-chasing antics,

Are cut short,

By a stiff jerk,

A wag of the finger,

And a stern “no.”

Strength is nothing,

Without a capacity,

For restraint.

Without it,

Barks and bites,

Grow tenfold,

Get old,

And lose effect entirely.