Groundhog War

Craving the perfect garden,

I hauled aged horse manure,

added compost and peat moss,

turned clay to soil.

I fenced,

rototilled,

raised beds,

planted,

weeded.

I awaited the first heavenly zucchini.

Then, with peas, squash and tomato nearly full,

it struck.

Ok, I can deal with this.

I meditated and asked it to leave.

I spread pepper.

I spread blood.

I set humane traps.

Still it fattened on my dream.

Virtue shifting,

I lay awake in loathing,

plotting my kill.

First the large, flat stones to block its tunnels

and then the smoke bomb.

It died gasping, sucking an air gone foul.

So what am I now?

Surely more than I thought.

Life sits in my hand,

and I’ll play the death card if pushed.

Two years later,

another groundhog moved in.

It cleaned the old tunnels,

shoving my former adversary’s

bones to the surface.

Here’s my undoing made visible.

     No remorse.

In a preemptive strike,

I smoked the little shit.

Where in the name of mercy is my mercy?