I do not, by the way, condone culling badgers.
Badger
Snuffling, grunting
Brock roams the moonlit land
in woodland, forest, field
and garden he sniffs for food.
Pale shadows fall in his padded trail
through leafy hedge
the scent of bulbs in fresh-dug soil
overpower him as he digs and feeds;
the hyacinth bulbs will never grow -
those proto-plants I so carefully placed
to become a spring delight
are just a tasty treat for the badger.
What a stripy bastard.
Tim Fellows 2017
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