The cabin-goer's front desk service--
A bird's wakeup call to peel
Back the sleepingbag as
The night unveils the day.
With the sunrise,
Footing found in synthetic clogs.
A half shuteye traipse through
The screen door to embark
On the morning jaunt.
A moment to survey the mottled landscape--
A hunchbacked orange salamnder,
The apparent overseer of the stoop, cabin porch,
Stamped his foot with pronounced brovado,
Halt, who steps here!!!
Evoking from the interloper
Not quite a yelp, not quite a yawp:
Newt, let me pass--
To the outhouse I must go!
Demanded while retreating back
Into the cabin, returning armed as a
Paparazzi, prepared to confront the
Flamboyant, steadfast, workzone
The plan, capture via enrapture
The salamander; flatter to shame
With superabundant fascination.
Disarmed by the fasion-envy,
The newt, having finished his business,
Fled beneath the stoop--embarassed, angered
From the barrage of tabloid closeups.
Documented for posterity,
The social media excitement waned.
The path was, now, fully accessible--
Onward to the outhouse!
En route, parchance on a similar mission,
Stopped in her tracks--a doe's gaze;