lonely little badger

I attended a poetry-off with a few family members. The second round’s theme was “the [a] lonely little badger.” After ten minutes or so of scribbling, I read them this:

Undiminished recessive chin;
A gaze that ends where it b’gin.
Spurs clinking at his waddle,
He’s easy on the saddle;
Stands gnawing in the sturrips,
Silver star jumping when he hiccups.

He’s the lonely little badger;
The mammal with a badge, or
Affidavit, subpoena, habeas whatever.
His hand [paw?] is on the engine’s lever
Of the train of law abidin’ men
Which howls across the moonlit svenn.

Oh, fericious, hairy one,
Guarding legal tender with your trusty gun,
Where have you gone? Will you come back?
We need your fearless stripes of white and black.
We long to hear your sniffling inquisition,
Holding the high ground from a low position.

This badger, it seems, is the quintessential lawyer-lawman of the old west. Cut to wide shot: our badger on horseback, his stetson silhoutted against the evening sky, rides toward the sunset. Fade to black (with a white stripe), aaaaaaaaaaand cue credits.

I’m not crying; it’s just allergies.