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.
