Here’s another poem—always the comedian. . .

Joy of Spring

I walk beneath a leaden sky, along
A sidewalk slick with rain, and from around
A leafless elm a squirrel inspects and cranes
Its neck. Its patchwork coat of tattered greys

Conceals protruding bones. With cautious steps
It drifts towards the curb, instinctively stops,
Then onto shimmering asphalt it timidly creeps.
It niddles contendly, filling its cheeks, but careless

Of the Ford (a lady with puffy, unseeing eyes
Is driving) careening up behind, and I
Unconsciously shout, “A car! Run away!”
He looks at me with rodent brow upraised

Then turns too late as tire embraces squirrel.