he could die now
flattened by wheels
electrocuted, biting a live wire
poisoned
or simple disease
or drown
all the complications, amassed
* * *
somewhere, in the limbs
what had riled him so early?
Blue Jay
squawking
could be confused
for squirrels
(What was the opera, anyway? Certainly not Cinderella
with her matching fur slippers)
unlike Cardinal
or those who keep a steady pace
each sunrise
each species how much bite off and chew
bury the rest now in a fury neighbors gain consciousness
take aim if they can brush the turret
* * *
Was she more rabbit or possum?
“Oh, but possums are meaner – they have more teeth
and they’re sharp” – well matched, in the end
* * *
knowing all the same they’ll be back
dawning alarm not of squirrels but outraged jays
surround a marauding crow
every jay within a mile or two assembles for attack
one after another, they dart at a wincing intruder
that finally departs, offended
already crows lay siege to a mockingbird nest
they pestered before destruction
try as you will, you can’ prevent much
even when striving for balance
still, you undertake what you can
alarmed, yes, and full of frustration,
load and fire the kid’s super-saturation water gun
startle a few squirrels raiding the bird feeder
knowing, all the same, they’ll be back
yet hoping he can prevent them
* * *
stripping the black walnut tree
after the strawberries and blueberries
all in their brief season
* * *
from the instrument he carries across thin snow
duty said nothing children, you know
domestic matters and adventures
of mice and squirrels and the manor
gingerbread, the squirrels and rabbits love to nibble
* * *
before the endless domestic encounters
Snakes in the basement.
Bees streaming
from the barn’s
loose siding.
I’ve lived many places:
I’ve lived nowhere
but the wind
or the workplace
until now.
* * *
keep the shell healthy for all within
he once thought, ignoring the empty fruit basket
he would learn there are jobs a man does
as if that, in itself, is sufficient qualification
what does he know now the world’s shrinking
save for trash removal? tell him, then, the eternity of hell
is different from the eternity of paradise
one just won’t end the other seems a flash
it’s no different than becoming conscious
abed they listen in winter night scratching inside old house walls
all the same she rolls toward him
he could depart as an old man baffled by suspenders to his pants
while his wife’s away having her hair styled
all along, his lady has been a holy terror as much as any
holy mother even so, they always get envelopes in the mail
* * *
he could be the squirrel at the bay window
or that whistle
Poem copyright 2015 by Jnana Hodson
To read the full set of squirrelly poems, click here.
Jnana's Red Barn 