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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Monday, April 15, 2013

Punks on the Loose


Go ahead and accuse me of anthropomorphism-
I swear that the squirrels are messing with me
I can hear nefarious sniggers within their chattering
I can see the roguish gleam in their eyes
From their treetop hideaways, they taunt,
springing to and fro on my roof,
 misbehaving children jumping on a mattress
Their little nails clatter away as they scurry,
tormenting both me and my beleaguered dogs
Their brash vandalism astounds me
After devouring every last bird seed
and chugging the hummingbird nectar,
they destroy the feeders,
leaving them in bent, broken, shreds,
adorned with tooth markings, squirrel graffitti
Impudent, little punks!
Tbey play chicken as I drive down the street,
presumptuously dashing in front of my wheels,
daring me
I daydream revenge for a moment
but then slam on the brakes,
sending the contents of grocery bags and my coffee
flying through the car's interior,
spilling everywhere
I know that the squirrels are clutching their bellies,
laughing and high fiving,
snickering, "Dude, did you see that?!!"

 source

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday


4 comments:

Margaret said...

You are most gracious not to declare war. :)

Fireblossom said...

Squirrels 1, Lolamouse 0!

J Cosmo Newbery said...

Oh yes! They certainly are. And I think they've been coaching my possums.

Mynx said...

After reading this, I am very glad we dont get squirrels here