For something so big and rarely photographed
he sure leaves enough evidence of his presence here
I could open a souvenir shop in my living room.
I found him last week digging through my trash.
Once I convinced him I didn’t have a camera in my hand
he mumble footed to my patio table where I served
him left over beef stew. (Although I wasn’t sure if
it was his cousin I’d just served him on a paper plate.)
I managed enough hand waving to let him know he
could stay in the garage where I store my motor home,
and he curled up into a giant ball as soon as I’d made
a bed with every blanket I owned.
I thought he would be there for one night, do the wild
thing
and run back to the woods, but no, he decided concrete
and a maid were just what he needed.
I could make a lot of money if I alerted the Bigfoot
Chasers
I had one that had self-domesticated himself in my back
yard,
but I can’t imagine looking into those baseball sized
eyes
knowing his next home would be a zoo full of swamp
noggins’.
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