A Plague of Squirrels

I'm kidding, of course.

The squirrels and I actually get along pretty well. Oh, I see them occasionally, pausing to stare at me and one of my funny looking hats.

But they never laugh and poke fun at me ... and I try to treat them with equal respect.

I do recall, though, that there was one encounter the day after we moved into Brimm Manor ... I thought I heard someone ... or something ... at the back door.

It was a squirrel.

From all indications, he was there for a handout. He'd been accustomed to being offered goodies.

Then there was the one which came down our chimney. Did we ever have fun that day!

Mostly, though, we just go our separate ways ... I'm afraid of heights ... and they seem to have a thing about mowing the lawn and watering the flowers.

The poem:

A PLAGUE OF SQUIRRELS

What vile crimes have I committed

that I must be punished by you,

you frenzied plague of squirrels?

You dig up the tulips, tear out

the gutter guards, leave pizza slices

dangling from the evergreens,

litter the driveway with twigs

and leaves while you perfect the art

of nesting, pile our picnic table

with walnut chewings, spread hysteria

by screeching from the highest limbs,

patter across our silent green roof

at daybreak, hide juicy, squishy things

under the swing's yellow cushions,

come down our chimney bearing gifts

of frantic sooty footprints over all

the basement, spending a whole afternoon

eluding me, until finally hiding

in a box so I might carry you outside

to set you free, a twitch of the tail

your cursory thanks for the ride,

and I see you later scampering down that

superhighway of cable, as though nothing

had happened today, absolutely nothing.

© 2001

(won a third place award in Ohio Poetry Day competition)

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Today's word: scampering