Why Is Squirrel

I ask
why is squirrel
why not dog
why just squirrel
why is squirrel
not rabbit
or near rabbit
or through rabbit
always squirrel
always hunting
always hungry
and searching
and squirrel
not cat
not parrot
not me
and ever
and ever
but why is love
why is loss


No poem yesterday
because of the marking
so now I am writing yesterday’s poem
which is really boring
because it is about yesterday’s poem not being written yesterday
and I just keep going on about it
like a chump
so you should probably stop reading soon
no really
nothing interesting is happening here

except for the thing with the squirrels

Angry Muscles

Leg muscles
you are angry with me
for using you a lot this week
but do consider the alternative

I mean
you enjoy it when I veg out in front of Netflix
but you also like all that walking
you know you do
even though you whine about it afterwards

And obviously
you want to grow up big and strong
so you can boast to all your leg-muscle friends
about how far you walked that one time
without getting tired

So stop complaining
and start preparing for today’s epic trek
which may involve a twisty path
and a lot of squirrels


There is dust in the watering hole
and nothing will ever be the same again
except the tips of the squirrels
and their gleeful little hats
and somebody’s leftover rainbow

Grieve for the pudding
which is not like other puddings
and cheer for the pudding
which is not like other puddings

Follow the rattlesnake
Jenny Cooper
and lash it
to the tongue
of its enemy

Where Are My Books?

Where are they?
I cannot find them.
Perhaps the squirrels have stolen them
like in that picture book
is sitting on top of my couch
for some reason
so that I see it every morning
and always have the urge
to write a poem about it

I suppose
I just spoiled the picture book
for everyone who has not read it yet
which is unfortunate
and cruel of me
but for crying out loud
where are my books?
It seems odd that I cannot find them
as I have several thousand
and they generally end up in piles
all over my floor

I hope I am not attacked
by legions of rabid picture-book fans
and squirrels
angry that I have given away the twist ending
and/or the nefarious cunning of squirrels everywhere
but let’s face it
we already knew about the squirrels

Please tell me if you find my books
and my shoes
and my plane ticket
and the joy I take in marking term papers
and my pants
oh yes
but obviously
my books
most of all


Festering pancake batter
trapped hard in the bosom of fictionality
let me shape your warm
foetid flesh
into particles of dark matter
ripped from the womb of physics




The whales are screaming
in my bedroom
the whales the terrible
or whales
or dolphins
or squirrel!


No one knows
how the island is shaped
but I know
what time it brushes its teeth
before bed