The Gift
in his down
time
when he
wasn’t under
the hood
or over the dash
of his not-long-bought
jeep
the antique one, the model, that turned his head
the one he gave up his blue boat for
determined to restore
like any good mechanic
he knows her body well
her inner-workings sublime to his practical mind
he can get lost for days
in there
but now and again
above his brew
through the windshield
he’d catch a glimmer
a streak
and catlike he’d move himself
into position
still as steel
ready to take him out
that damn squirrel
had to die
all the damage done
the detonation of insulation
the gnawing, the gloating
something had to be done
so he’d grab his bb gun
and fire a few
and wait it out
and this went on
for months
would have
months more
if he hadn’t
had a hankering
to drive him out
with the hose
he blasted the water
through the gutter
who knows how long
when he heard
something cry
and reached in
the river
and felt around
until his hand
met something
small and wet
soaked and spent
and barely breathing
he climbed down the ladder
and had the strangest look
what to do
so he took a towel
and dried the ball
and dragged out an aquarium
and found half a bag of shavings
and dumped it in
and for some reason
he figured on plastic gloves
and started filling them with hot water
and soon as he laid ‘em down
that baby squirrel
knew his mama
and slept
for hours
and woke up
hungry for a bottle
these days
he can’t get enough walnuts
or the love of a child
who gave him a name
and all her toys
and when she runs from
room to room
he follows her about
like a “little lamb”
bounding across fields of carpet and tile
he climbs her leg
his only tree
and scampers up and down the trunk
‘til he tires
and wants his bottle
and the man
with the gun
watches the child
put the baby to bed
and he can’t help
but smile
and shake his head
TL