holes

Holes,
hard ones that
tamp themselves.
Ready,
lying always
in wait
of the clumsy,
soon-to-be
sufferer.
All the
thick space
between
Earth, man,
beast and branch.
Decorative,
unfashionable and
boring holes.
Wells of the
living who
happened by too close.
Earmarks of 
eager destruction.
These holes are
hollow indeed.
But boy,
do they ever
paint a scene.