once you feed it, it never goes away…

‘squirrel’

a blue collar gets a pass with nail beds chock-full of dirt but mine go unscrubbed and i’m labeled a slob. come near me enough and you’ll smell the endless mounds of earth i’ve dug. old storms and expired seasons stain my pores. the irony how history both tears and heals the wounds. i’ve ancient footfall echoing tips of each finger yet without the cadence of her heels nothing will do. you ask what i’m hiding and i strip off my clothes to show unequivocally the nonentities up my sleeve and as long as you keep your eyes to the floor you won’t notice the disruptions in the yard. spatial memory serves me well and so she rests everywhere she’ll never be found and if bygone days realign i’ll uncover her again. painfully my ribs protrude but you’ve taken no care to notice nor do you question why i forego the lather when washing my hands. 

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squirrel

any of various rodents usually

with a long bushy tail and

strong hind legs; 

to store up for future use

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© Joseph A. Pinto

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'dead bird,' 'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.

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