The Squirrel
by Jeffrey McDonald


Sitting in the driveway,
presuming the morning true.
THUD from behind me,
a small squirrel missed what it had leapt for.
I caught its aberrant carom off the cement.
Aerial artist, fearless daredevil, crafty nuisance
no longer.
Stunned and grounded, it veered off like a drunk to the nearest bush for cover.
Too familiar.

I went inside,
the day no longer
worth believing in.






Copyright 2019 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.