by Debby Peebles

Created on: August 25, 2008

If mud were blood,
I'd be dead.

If the mud, lying in pools,
around my house,
were blood.
I would be in the horror movie of my life.
I shrink back from my window,
as the muds of winter surround me,
and course down the veins of my driveway.
Lapping against my naked fruit trees,
knocking at my back door.

"Get out mud." I shout at it,
" Shoo mud!" I implore and I wave my arms at mud,
as if it were a stray, unwanted dog,
bringing home rotting carcasses of road kill
and leaving them on my lawn.

"Get out of here." I shout to brown emptiness.
"Sun come here," I plead to the disappearing light,
as it hides behind soiled skies and puffed up clouds.

Mud snickers at me from the ground,
before sliding under my house and
taking my flower plants with it.

That's nature for you !

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