My neighborhood’s an endless source of news,
And I’m hard pressed to keep on top of it.
Each detail on each street I must peruse,
So I’m confused by those who do the opposite.
A few short years ago when I would hear
Some human talking to the air around,
I’d think them mad, and slink away in fear
Of catchers come to take them to the pound.
But then such public babblers multiplied
And now I meet at least one every walk –
Their voices booming as if amplified,
Though damned if I can see to whom they talk.
Some stuff their ears with little egg-shaped things,
Some stare at rectangles that pulse with light,
But all seem unaware of reckonings
This world brings those who disrespect its might.
But hold – for here some some squirrel has been dismembered,
Nought but his tail remains to tell the tale
Of the floating hawk that squirrel failed to remember
Until his death dropped on him like a veil.
And here are twigs whose tips the scents exude
Of some young thing new to the neighborhood
Who’s surely in an amiable mood
And just as surely sick of maidenhood.
I pity humankind, who might as well
Be moles, stuffing their senses up with dirt,
Oblivious to sight or sound or smell,
The perfect inverse image of Alert.
But let me trot on. These humans doomed may be,
Like absent-minded squirrels, but what’s the diff?
More room for those of us who still run free,
Absorbing all the news that’s fit to sniff.
