PoetryAloud
Anne Graue Reads
The Armadillos
he didn't see it coming, shouted
something unutterable with the shots, then four of the five were dead, left bleeding at the corner of her house. "They're pests," the deputy said, "and they're too far north--these critters come up from Texas and will ruin the foundation of your house, ma'am." She thought he might have brought a trap like she remembered he did for raccoons, skunks, and groundhogs; Armadillo blood splashed unexpected upon the verdant grass. Her daughter took pictures once she'd called the sheriff; these were strange, primordial creatures she'd only seen on TV. They were sinister too, in armor, prehistoric in their gunmetal scales and taupe leather for skin. They were digging for grubs next to the holly bush between the hydrangeas and jonquils, oblivious to the chrome on the car, the man pulling up in the drive, cutting the engine, standing on the porch, drinking iced tea, talking, laughing. |
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