BY JNANA HODSON
Who knows exactly when it happened
that he realized he held more in common
with squirrels than any of his colleagues?
He couldnít quite fly, no matter how much
he admired birds, and had climbed
enough trees as a kid to nearly qualify.
Still, he had little taste for nuts, other than cashews,
unless you meant strange people,
and he rarely raked fallen leaves.
Maybe it was all a matter of some feeling
he didnít exactly belong in this apartment or house,
except by clandestinely rearranging his peculiar insulation.
Maybe it was simply a nickname
for the way he rummaged frenziedly
of some missing item suddenly remembered.
He would dash, then, in and out of the trap.
In and out of the trap. And, with a snap,
wonder where he was being carried.