Squirrels Without End, Amen - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Squirrels Without End, Amen

 

Whenever I take my book to the front-yard oak

The squirrel stretched from the feeder to the trunk

Flees in a seed-strewn panic across the lawn

To a farther tree, free of human menace

 

This is a young squirrel; its predecessor

Arched from feeder to trunk in exactly the same way

But held its ground, or, rather, its rough old tree

And chittered defiance in contempt of me

 

By summer’s end this squirrel too will stare me down -

I wonder what Pasternak wrote about squirrels

High Noon at the Bird Feeder

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

High Noon at the Bird Feeder

A little dog, a streak of dachshund red,
Across the grass speeds to a squirrel’s doom
She wants its blood, she wants its flesh, she wants it dead;
Ripped, shredded, and torn, it will need no tomb.

The fat old squirrel, a fluff of forest grey,
Is unimpressed by doggie dementia;
To Liesl’s grief he leaps and climbs away -
Never underestimate the Order Rodentia!

Liesl’s squirrel clings to a low-hanging limb
And chatters abuse at the angry pup
Who spins and barks and spins and barks at him
Laughing among the leaves, and climbing higher up.

So Liesl snorts and sneers, and marks the ground;
She accepts not defeat, nor lingers in sorrow;
For Liesl and squirrel it’s their daily round;
They’ll go it again, same time tomorrow.