by Katha Pollitt
Blind knobby eyes feeling out
the chinks in the damp black earth
all summer long these tunnel under the fence
to throttle the open field of milkweed and Queen Anne’s lace
or live for years in cellars
their softened, mealy flesh
rotting into the earth, indistinguishable from earth
but still flinging up roots and occasional leaves
white as fish in caves.
Feel them, the swollen sac,
the baggy elephant skin:
if they are edible, it is only by accident.