All night it poured,
a heavy persistent rain,
and I prayed the gophers
were drowning.
When I walk my field
after rain like this,
water gushes from their holes,
but I never see any soggy
little bodies. The gophers
are down deep, cuddled up, 
happy their tunnels
are cleaned out, 
the ground softened,
storing up energy,
eager to break out in new
exciting directions–
like that fruit tree over there,
that just got planted.
There’s no getting rid
of these gophers–
my two cats are worthless.
Days ago they caught one
but kept playing with it,
wouldn’t finish the job,
I had to hit it with a shovel.
I have chickens, ducks, cats,
and gophers, lots of gophers.
If there was just one or two
I might even feed them.
They are like my bad habits,
my sins and weaknesses,
poking out everywhere,
perforating and taunting me.
Can I come to terms with them,
give them their place,
learn to appreciate
their lithe brown silken bodies,
perfect whiskers, sharp teeth and claws,
amazing engineering skill?
Can I just let them be?

©

Brad Shurmantine lives in Napa, Ca. He spends his time writing, reading, tending three gardens (sand, water, vegetable), keeping bees, taking care of chickens and cats, and working on that husband thing. He backpacks in the Sierras and travels when he can, and has a serious passion for George Eliot.