Turnpike Charlie lives in my front yard.
A clever mammal, he works so hard—
His tunneled home is ‘neath an aged tree
With twisted roots that appear gnarly.

I’ll bet he thinks inside his pea brain
In this house, humans are all insane.
We run back to front, nothing to gain
But to beat Charlie through the water drain. 

There’s a plastic pipe runs back to front.
It ferries storm water to the street.
But Charlie won’t hike through grass and brush;
He flies through the pipe to bedevil us.

Jowls filled with nuts he’s on a mission--
A small rodent, a real tactician.
He’s caught us racing room to room.
Will we beat him on his tunnel zoom?

Nine times out of ten, He pops out front.
We’ve given chase but we must punt.
Somehow, he always wins this race;
His head pops out first, we’re in disgrace.

Charlie’s one wizard a bright chipmunk;
In a wrest of smarts, it’s us who’d flunk.
“Good Grief,” we’ve sighed, “that beast can fly
He beats us every time we try.” 

This chipmunk knows we’re in pursuit.
Why else would he dash his turnpike chute?