Noodle

By Paul Handley

I put my hand in a hole to confront my fear.

I pulled out a bloody stump

I noodle for bottom feeders.

I punched the hole.

Leeches were under my nails.

Scaly skin, sharp whiskers,

nibble of teeth are all there.

I hear babies cry for their mother.

I’ve had rabies shots five times.

Like to get it early spring

to last a season.

Not all beaver work ethic,

But build on others.

Might be brick fireplace that was covered,

Other animals come back

depending on size and ferocity

have new digs or unexpectedly

new construction.

I stunned a rodent.

I stunned a wood chuck.

My claddagh ring hit bone.

I’ve started a rock garden.

Build a hole next to the hole

and tap and knock on the wall.

Plaster of Hades dusting their fur.

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Paul Handley spent a career as a student and a student of odd jobs. He has an MA, an MPA, and is ABD. He has driven a cab and sold meat door-to-door. Paul has work included or forthcoming in Apollo’s Lyre, Boston Literary Magazine, Ophelia Street, Poesia and others.