The Agreeable Ground-Dweller

You see me, mid-arch.
the ground-dweller,
muffin grabber,
gossiper, from pigeon to shrew.
giggling at yet
another girl in ombre tresses,
jaywalking across the melting ice
bloomers, the shade of apples
and a dress like black licorice.

I wonder if she likes pecans.
I myself like peanuts.

He is something else.
the tree-dweller,
people hater,
stalker, from branch to sapling.
shivering at last
in maniacal schemes,
pranking upon a child’s joy
bubbles, a tint of blue
and a snarky pop! as possums play dead.

Critters who live in rotting trunks
shouldn’t throw rancid pecans.

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