On that mossy day in the oldfields,
with the yellow leaves at their sweetsmellingest,
you were on the soggy bench, looking at the lost jewelry
of fish, and nothing had ever been so quiet,
even the water was asleep, until
a squirrel came crashing through the canopy,
hitting a dozen hi-hats. That is when you learned
this crucial fact about squirrels: They do not get embarrassed,
even when they almost die in front of their friends.
They snag a branch and scramble trunkward
like they meant to disembark
that way—cool trick, huh?—and one second later
they’re like nut nut nut nut nut
nut nut nut hey there’s another squirrel, I better
fuck with him real quick, GOTCHA TAIL FRANK,
can’t catch me, can’t catch me, can’t catch
nut nut nut nut nut GET OFF ME, FRANK YOU ASSHOLE!

It’s all play with squirrels. It’s all life
or death. It’s all squirrels, all the time.
If you’re squinting at that logic, joke’s
on you (gotcha tail), but that doesn’t mean
it’s not true. Even Frank knows that,
and he’s as stupid as a guy
who sits on a soggy bench.