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Armadillo Peccadilloes ©2022 by (((Trevor Patrick)))
Out walking the dog
the second-last evening
of two-thousand twenty-two.
No matter what I've got on the agenda
Puppers ALWAYS has
more important business to do.
A bully-mutt likes to be in charge
& that's all there is to it!
Just 'cuz I refuse to accept
that particular memo,
well, that's no excuse
for being a thick, dumb human!
Lots of things to sniff
lots of pee-mails to send
& the all-important number two
that comes out at the end --
-- & just like the Solitaire deck
the Statler Brothers
sang about playing with
'til dawn,
I'm less than than a day
& a few 'perfectly good hours'
from having a
(year)-count of fifty-one
Heavy dew & ghostly mist
rising from the inland/lowland
swampy coastal plains
West of St. Augustine,
Sounds seem deadened & muffled
just only a few feet away
though some nights I can hear the traffic
on I-95 a couple miles to the east
Sometimes I'll see the herd of whitetails
nosing & grazing during the day,
but if they see the dog behind the window,
they'll snort, lift tails & run away.
But in the evening time,
just a chunky, cranky opossum,
even the dog seems to know better;
wouldn't trust him as far as he could toss him.
But,
not so with all the little armadillos,
& their nighttime
lawn-digging peccadilloes.
I guess things have gotten boring
since the Armadillo World Headquarters
closed down,
though it was once Austin's hottest place
to hear all the newest sounds.
But here in Florida,
he just leaps up with a little squeal
& full-tilt runs away;
even though the dog
solemnly promises
(wags his tail & paw-crosses his heart)
that he only wants to play.
Just like underneath a passing car,
armadillo does the same little jump
unfortunately earning him the name
of "Texas Speedbumps."
& they say they carry leprosy,
(but never explained the rest to me),
so unless I wanna wash my hands with a brillo,
I'd better not try & pet the 'dillos!
But when I played hockey as a kid
(some time in the Late Seventies)
my Cooper gloves supposedly had
'armadillo thumbs'
(not sure if it was
the actual real deal,
or just some hard,
plastic lump)
But there's something to be said
about 'dillo's armoured strength,
& possessing a rope-coiled penis
up to 2/3 of their body-length,
(& I think I'll avoid
the most obvious joke
even though it might disappoint
more than a few folks)
Yeah, I think I'll
stay in my lane & station,
& I'll trust the reader's
imagination.
& I think that when it
comes to having an identity crisis,
Armadillo's more than used to it,
'cuz individuality can't be easy
when every 'dillo family
isn't just one or two kids
but identical quadruplets.
So, I'm sorry, Puppers
to be such a fun-sponge
& joy-killer,
but even if I let you off the leash,
you're never gonna catch
the Florida Armadillo.
-----------------------------------------
Armadillo Peccadilloes ©2022 by (((Trevor Patrick)))
Out walking the dog
the second-last evening
of two-thousand twenty-two.
No matter what I've got on the agenda
Puppers ALWAYS has
more important business to do.
A bully-mutt likes to be in charge
& that's all there is to it!
Just 'cuz I refuse to accept
that particular memo,
well, that's no excuse
for being a thick, dumb human!
Lots of things to sniff
lots of pee-mails to send
& the all-important number two
that comes out at the end --
-- & just like the Solitaire deck
the Statler Brothers
sang about playing with
'til dawn,
I'm less than than a day
& a few 'perfectly good hours'
from having a
(year)-count of fifty-one
Heavy dew & ghostly mist
rising from the inland/lowland
swampy coastal plains
West of St. Augustine,
Sounds seem deadened & muffled
just only a few feet away
though some nights I can hear the traffic
on I-95 a couple miles to the east
Sometimes I'll see the herd of whitetails
nosing & grazing during the day,
but if they see the dog behind the window,
they'll snort, lift tails & run away.
But in the evening time,
just a chunky, cranky opossum,
even the dog seems to know better;
wouldn't trust him as far as he could toss him.
But,
not so with all the little armadillos,
& their nighttime
lawn-digging peccadilloes.
I guess things have gotten boring
since the Armadillo World Headquarters
closed down,
though it was once Austin's hottest place
to hear all the newest sounds.
But here in Florida,
he just leaps up with a little squeal
& full-tilt runs away;
even though the dog
solemnly promises
(wags his tail & paw-crosses his heart)
that he only wants to play.
Just like underneath a passing car,
armadillo does the same little jump
unfortunately earning him the name
of "Texas Speedbumps."
& they say they carry leprosy,
(but never explained the rest to me),
so unless I wanna wash my hands with a brillo,
I'd better not try & pet the 'dillos!
But when I played hockey as a kid
(some time in the Late Seventies)
my Cooper gloves supposedly had
'armadillo thumbs'
(not sure if it was
the actual real deal,
or just some hard,
plastic lump)
But there's something to be said
about 'dillo's armoured strength,
& possessing a rope-coiled penis
up to 2/3 of their body-length,
(& I think I'll avoid
the most obvious joke
even though it might disappoint
more than a few folks)
Yeah, I think I'll
stay in my lane & station,
& I'll trust the reader's
imagination.
& I think that when it
comes to having an identity crisis,
Armadillo's more than used to it,
'cuz individuality can't be easy
when every 'dillo family
isn't just one or two kids
but identical quadruplets.
So, I'm sorry, Puppers
to be such a fun-sponge
& joy-killer,
but even if I let you off the leash,
you're never gonna catch
the Florida Armadillo.
This is an odd, experimental piece, which is mostly a product of a mixture of midlife crisis angst and depression, but also bits of wry humour in odd places. I am currently snowbirding in St. Augustine, FL over the winter, and the main inspiration for this came on the second-last evening of 2022, as I was taking the dog out for his evening walk.
30 Dec 2022 was also the day before I turned 51. Of course, one of the most famous uses of the number 51 in a song that immediately came to mind was from the Statler Brothers' 1965 song: "Flowers on the Wall", and its line about: "Playing Solitaire 'til dawn with a deck of 51". As Kurt Vonnegut put it in his 1981 book "Palm Sunday": "It's not a poem about escape or rebirth, it's a poem about the end of a man's usefulness."
Having spent the past several years going through the worst parts of Midlife Crisis depression, and having found myself in a situation, where I've often felt completely adrift and lost, being past 50, single, and somehow trying to redefine myself yet again, some of those thoughts not only hit home, but in fact, slam themselves in, right up to the hilt.
It's the bittersweet realisation that although my life has improved some small amount since the Covid lockdowns ended, and I have a few small things to be thankful for (such as the fact that I have found myself in a position to spend the winter in Florida), I nevertheless have still had to reconcile myself to the fact that things such as the high-flying career, and/or using my education or past career experience in any sense other than the most abstract is likely just not in the cards for me, especially at this late stage of my life. Throw depression into the mix, and on the bad days I really grok the idea of feeling like a "useless eater".
Like so many other things, it's not an easy forced-recalibration to wrap one's head around. At my bitterest, and most depressive moments, I sometimes feel as if I have somehow gone directly from 'overgrown, irresponsible teenager' to 'lonely old man' without ever having managed to successfully 'adult' in between those two stages. Of course, my more logical, rational mind knows that such a contention is both highly inaccurate, and grossly skewed and exaggerated, but depression (especially the midlife crisis variety), is often a highly illogical beast indeed...
Still, sometimes there's also moments of odd, wry amusement to be had, such as taking the dog out to do his evening business, and he really, really, really wants to chase the armadillos, and lets me know in no uncertain terms that he finds being on a leash in such situations to be a near-intolerable level of insult. :P
30 Dec 2022 was also the day before I turned 51. Of course, one of the most famous uses of the number 51 in a song that immediately came to mind was from the Statler Brothers' 1965 song: "Flowers on the Wall", and its line about: "Playing Solitaire 'til dawn with a deck of 51". As Kurt Vonnegut put it in his 1981 book "Palm Sunday": "It's not a poem about escape or rebirth, it's a poem about the end of a man's usefulness."
Having spent the past several years going through the worst parts of Midlife Crisis depression, and having found myself in a situation, where I've often felt completely adrift and lost, being past 50, single, and somehow trying to redefine myself yet again, some of those thoughts not only hit home, but in fact, slam themselves in, right up to the hilt.
It's the bittersweet realisation that although my life has improved some small amount since the Covid lockdowns ended, and I have a few small things to be thankful for (such as the fact that I have found myself in a position to spend the winter in Florida), I nevertheless have still had to reconcile myself to the fact that things such as the high-flying career, and/or using my education or past career experience in any sense other than the most abstract is likely just not in the cards for me, especially at this late stage of my life. Throw depression into the mix, and on the bad days I really grok the idea of feeling like a "useless eater".
Like so many other things, it's not an easy forced-recalibration to wrap one's head around. At my bitterest, and most depressive moments, I sometimes feel as if I have somehow gone directly from 'overgrown, irresponsible teenager' to 'lonely old man' without ever having managed to successfully 'adult' in between those two stages. Of course, my more logical, rational mind knows that such a contention is both highly inaccurate, and grossly skewed and exaggerated, but depression (especially the midlife crisis variety), is often a highly illogical beast indeed...
Still, sometimes there's also moments of odd, wry amusement to be had, such as taking the dog out to do his evening business, and he really, really, really wants to chase the armadillos, and lets me know in no uncertain terms that he finds being on a leash in such situations to be a near-intolerable level of insult. :P
Category Poetry / Animal related (non-anthro)
Species Armadillo
Gender Male
Size 50 x 50px
Comments