One more set of two-line poems

I fell in love with a monarch caterpillar, watching it feed on milkweed, ease down a long stalk to a new patch, lean over a black plastic fence and disappear.

 I’m testy today, unable to focus on work or play because a pair of spiders may have climbed into my ear canals, swimming down and across my sinuses till their tiny canoes hit mucous and dropped anchor.

Halfway through a dog walk we watch a woodchuck at the end of a cul-de-sac climb off his tree stump wander onto a neglected lawn and bow.

Pet rabbits run wild in my neighborhood, pushing cats out of shade under porches or that trailer you left in a driveway leaving a hole much larger than the three inches a raccoon needs to burrow into your shed.

I don’t know why I didn’t write about that black snake caught in my garden netting, trapped beside the green beans in a coil of nylon.

 Zucchini hide under tents of leaves, swollen ovaries muscling into clubs not unlike those eggplants left in a corner plot preparing for release like maturing eggs.