Chronic Discontent

I spot it by the mailbox

wearing a gray terrycloth robe and a pair of black Isotoner leopard slippers

entertaining the messy neighbor

with predictions of bear sightings and blood engorged ticks

brought on by a mutual repulsion for yard work.

Later it disguises itself

as a local journalist

gasping about disharmony

throughout the Mid-Hudson valley

allergic to crowds and absent at the town street festival

it prefers to drive home alone

belittle the spouse

complain of indigestion

and then eat

a hunk of Swiss cheese

and leftover asparagus

that the army ants have snubbed.