Geckos in The Garden Shed

By John I. Blair

Sliding past my prickly hollies,
Mind intent on finding what
My planting project sent me for,
I stepped up to the garden shed
And wrestled with the balky door.

The gloom within breathed old decay,
Objects tossed to rot away,
Compost, hoses, battered tools,
Broken lawnchairs slung aside,
Years of flower tags on the floor.

Suddenly, my senses sharpened
By the musty atmosphere,
I felt a presence on the walls,
Something hiding, something gliding
On the panels, on the ceiling!

As eyes adjusted to the sight,
Turning dusk to dim twilight,
The mystery resolved, revealed
A dozen geckos creeping, crawling,
Dashing over rusty steel.

Twisting torsos, lashing tails,
Stalking trails through dusty pots
And empty pails, they let me know,
Unbidden to that humid space,
I’d found their hidden jungle world.

©2004 John I. Blair