Petrichor

The Pest

Conniving green eyes pierce the calm
Blood and feathers drip from the maw

Dirt-tipped ears hover above
Drought stricken grass
Connected to conniving eyes

Thunderous steps
Hit the ground

thud.

thud.

Thud.

Haunting barks, the
Grinding of lead on lead
Rattle through the abyss

Swift movements of paws
Pad the ground delicately,
Every step purposeful.

This way
-no that way-
Where'd the mongrel go?!

They thought they 'ad 'im
Metallic grinding sounds the
Night once more

A heavy blanket settles
On this hot summers night

it escapes again.

The movie plays before me
As I realise;
They are the hunters.
We are the pests.
They are the bullies.
We are the targets.