Squirrels by Joseph Chelius

Squirrels

In their gray custodians’ uniforms,
they clean up under the feeder.
Or, hanging upside down, suspend themselves
from the pest-proof grill
they make sway on the pole—
the seed we’d intended for the juncos and finches
spewing like coins from a bank.

But today, instead of rapping on the panes
to drive them away,
let us praise them for their tenacity.
Let us marvel at the pistons
of their industrious jaws,
their way of darting across a yard or street,
quick starts, then stops
as if suddenly remembering a chore.

Let us celebrate how pervasive they are—
like kudzu, those shaggy-maned dandelions
that on tall stalks bob in the breeze
as if to taunt our best efforts
to banish them from view—
that return to our lawns and gardens.

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Joseph Chelius is the author two collections of poems with WordTech editions: The Art of Acquiescence and Crossing State Lines. His new collection, Playing Fields, is forthcoming with Kelsay Books.