The Squirrel’s Granary
Climbing fast, look -
a squirrel braves the wire.
The tall wire-mesh fence
topped with barbed wire
to deter all climbers
circles the entire
reservoir - higher
than the fabled hippies
high on rock music
and whatever, who’d leave
the lawn, mount the parapet,
wade and swim till dawn.
No more. This dry summer
the water’s mostly gone.
Only ducks for swimmers.
A threatening warning sign.
Crows cluster nearby. Just a
squirrel nimble and silvery
shimmies up as if barbed
wire bore fruit or nuts.
What’s it after? Near
the parapet some lump
of pleasing shape draws
it down and along.
Back it comes now, jaws
clamped on whatever -
a gap low down
in the mesh lets it back -
near me and my alerted
Labrador. Grip that leash.
Fall is in the air - where’s
the squirrel’s granary -
met in my home country
only in poems? Our eyes trace
the squirrel’s quick track
into undergrowth and dark.
[late August 2016, Volunteer Park,
Capitol Hill, Seattle]
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