Crawley

Crawley
By Chris Commodore © 2006

She’s white; she’s bushy, cute and black.
Way past the late, warm summer rains;
More subtle trademarks on her back,
She crawls out of the village drains.
.
There late at night way down in fall,
She sneaks upon my Condo’s lawn.
Then fills her guts with worms and all,
And departs not till early dawn.

She’d unafraid, and that is clear.
She means nobody harm.
Although in some she raises fear,
Or sets a silly false alarm.

Still bushy Paulie packs a bomb,
More potent than raw sulfur.
To keep at bay predators dumb,
That threaten to accost her

So far behind my window pane,
There, I regard in silence.
Until she crawls away again,
With stealth with calm, with patience.

But for the past two fortnights,
I’ve sat and watched to see.
Till early morning’s fading lights,
But haven't seen my Paulie.

I hope that old man winter,
Blocked not her mansion’s gate.
And surely nothing sinister,
Forever sealed her fate.