EXPECTING A CENTER-POINT

their house and yard
lined a three-block street
that wasn’t straight but
bent, twice, away from due north
or an east-west axis

the squirrels there knew nothing of the next
state or globe     their world of endless
branching comprehends no sphere

each time he leaped, he’d forget who I am
all the same, gravity fashions
a turn toward chaos or quietude
expecting a center-point
it’s a pattern, yes,
the interlocking repetition
say of old wallpaper
shaping a marriage

of course they like flowers
rolls and glue, page after page,
all through the years
yellowing into decades

whatever turns
you on
makes you sorry
rubs nerves
pulling stuff
like that
live and learn
sweet revenge
isn’t you anyway

flaying those arms in Beulah Land

*   *   *

of course it was us versus them

*   *   *

he could hear masons warning new roofing shingles
were needed, pronto, and even he knew what damage a leak
could inflict all before their Great Plumber Shortage
he switched off This Old House episodes where workmen
arrive in time to preclude disaster     his was now nothing
or all kinds of superstition     so his reserves dwindled
even approaching the sump pump     what music, then?
ring around, pocket full of worry
they had a cache of cash

*   *   *

a true adversary
you soon come to resemble

of course he was furious
returning

to the newly replaced crown molding
they’d gnawed through in an hour

while they nested in the wall
his library reeked

*   *   *

“Calm? When are you ever calm?”

 Poem copyright 2015 by Jnana Hodson
To read the full set of squirrelly poems, click here.