Mice Don’t Squeal

Turtles hide elation well.
It’s difficult to blame the shell
Because their turtle toes go pink
When they’re delighted, but you’d think
A turtle’s normal state was sad
Or neutral, when, in fact, it’s glad.
So, why the lack of rosa toes?
Well, herpetologists suppose
The secret is the tiny shoes
Chelonians (that’s turtles) use
To keep their neon glee from leaking.
Turtles don’t like people peeking,
Prodding them to please emote;
A ‘possum or a fainting goat
Might opt to drop and just play dead,
But turtles hide their toes instead
In slippers sewn of bone and leather
(Bone pegs hold the soles together)
Which they buy from cobblemice
Who make them in exchange for rice
And confidential conversation:
Rodents know chelonielation.


The Sudden Rodent Hoedown

I’m not a fan of rodents
So I don’t invite them in.
I’ve never felt what Michael Jackson
Sang about in Ben.
They’re wingless sewer pigeons
With big teeth and hairless tails,
And when I see one in my kitchen
I dissolve in girly wails.

Little Bunny Poo-poo

Silly bunny on my lawn,
You squat. I wish you’d not. Begone!
You lift that little tuft of cotton
On your bottom, and the rotten
Pellets underneath fall out
Upon the grass that months of drought
Have worn into a state precarious.
I think saying “poop’s” hilarious;
Seeing it destroy my grass
Is less delightful. Move your ass,
I beg, to some locality
Resistant to fecality.
You’re welcome anytime to graze
Or even piddle, but I’ll raise
A strong objection if you poo.
Verstehen Sie? Please say you do–
Or, rather, won’t doo anymore.
That’s what my neighbor’s dogs are for.