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The Mole the Merrier? ©

Danny Reynolds
Dalton in Furness, England
2005

Theres a mole at the bottom of the garden,
Im told theyre awful cute.
Id like to arrange a meeting,
Between his a**e and my boot.
18 months of garden forcing,
A landscape to behold.
But to Mr. Mole, his only goal,
A landscape to be HOLED!

Why me? Why now?
Am I so bad?
Just when it was looking nice!
Ive tried to shift him humanely,
Taken all sorts of advice,
Ultrasonic noise emitters,
Stink him out with spice.
Till now I have this recurring dream,
Which involves a hacksaw and vice.

If I had caught him earlier,
Id have found him a nice place to dig.
Perhaps the local football clubs pitch,
Its soft, and green, and big.
But after these weeks of torture,
The dark-side, seen have I!
Now his only relocation will be,
To that great mole-hill in the sky!

But alas, he ignores my mole-trap,
And he doesnt come every day.
Im sure hes trying to wind me up,
When I think hes gone away.
As soon as I rake out and flatten the lumps
Hell surface again, then Im down in the dumps.
Laugh away, Mr. Mole!
And that grin.. you can wear it!
By the way,
May I say,
Have you met my new ferret?


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