Poking Holes in Creation

about the knickknacks, above
the sink, he kept his stick,
wound with rubber bands for
a handle, it fit his hand like
a saber, rattling away when he
passed by the white picket fence.

no legal charge had he
for poking at people, no commission
of greenbacks or promissory
notes, no none, yet he
found targets: a Monarch setting south;
a boa constrictor basking
on a porch; a cluster of geese
primping wildly on the pond.

his feet carried him through
neighborhoods quiet with charm,
oozing with habitats, and his
stick protected him
from the visible world
while his imagination
wiped enemies
from his sight.