Muddy Mouth

Deep in the undergrows Handy sighed with relief.

He'd come alone in the dark. He'd come again at dawn,

if not before the morning clockrise.

Meanwhile in the bushes above, behind the toepath

which goes along beside the canal leading to the sea

which in turn leads on to all the major oceans,

Indian, Atlantic, Pacific,

I can't remember the names of the others

off-Handy cided to leave.

He'd come apart at the seam

endangered life and lawn order before

the more since he lies. Even under oath, Handy lies,

when he feels caught between right and wrong.

I think he just might have been wrong this time,

which in turn left him with few alternatives to

relieving himself by hand alone in the dark.

Hiding in the bog.