Tico Tales

There’s a Bull in my Garden!

National Poetry Month, Day #13

“Please, can I stay?” My new visitor. Photo by Author

There’s a bull in my garden — don’t ask me why.
With hope in his eyes and a half-hearted cry,
he paces the fence as if waiting his turn,
or hoping for something he can’t quite discern.

He’s sleek and he’s shiny, all midnight and muscle,
but lost as a tourist with no map to rustle.
He stares at my house like it might be his fate —
then sighs in frustration and leans on the gate.

I said, “You look sad, but you can’t come inside —
your poops are immense, and my patience is fried!”
He blinked once, offended, then turned with a moo,
and wandered away like a shadow at noon.

— Adelia E. Ritchie

Author’s Note: I swear I’m not making this up. Today, I went out for breakfast with a friend and left my main gate open, knowing I’d be back soon, that it would be raining, and that I wouldn’t want to get out of the car and get soaked wrestling it open when I got home. Not a smart move, but some days, LAZY takes over, and I get a bull in my veggie patch. He intended to hang out there…