Obtuse Traditionalism

There is something huge living
under my tool shed.
Flattened down grass precedes
a cavern like entrance.
No sightings yet although
my neighbor has seen the bushes move.
His vigilance is encouraging
and the motion detector I had installed.
We may have pictures soon
to inundate the internet. Speaking
into a microphone, of course.
The entrance gives off an odor of musk
some gland or fistula gone rampant.
It keeps the curious away
who pester in theoretical camouflage.
An expert has predicted a sinkhole down there
that ancient river running beneath all of us.
Her idea is to descend
when stability is finally confirmed,
and facilitate an historical provenance.

Colin James has chapbooks of poetry Dreams Of The Really Annoying from Writers Knights Press and A Thoroughness Not Deprived Of Absurdity from Pski's Porch Publishing. He lives in Massachusetts. Read other articles by Colin.