For a Limited Time Only
On Sundays, my neighborhood smells of laundry, lilac blooms running out of vents in search of pasture. In summer, air conditioners rumble beneath cumulus sprinkled skies. Last night, the armadillos marched in. Locked but not loaded. They camped beneath my neighbor’s trees. Took late-night snacks on his lawn then mine. I can’t help but like their waddle from his maples to my dogwoods. I like watching them dig up my mulch, arming themselves with fuel. But I know my neighbor. I know their time is limited.
The science inspiring the piece:
Read about armadillos in Missouri in the US (over the past couple of decades, they have migrated up from Texas, through Arkansas, to Missouri).
Listen to Dave read the poem: