Squirrels And The Lost Mountains Of Tibet

At the garden store after closing time
when the employees lock up and go home
the neighborhood squirrels climb a nearby tree
and run out on a long branch and jump down
to the top of the chain-link fence around
the garden store and then climb down inside.

I’m not sure what the squirrels do inside there.

I like to think one of those busy squirrels
is the real king of the world and the squirrels
are brain-storming—well, they’re squirrel-brain-storming—
solutions to the world’s problems to send
via squirrel brainwaves or akashic chirps
to the human acting king of the world
somewhere in the lost mountains of Tibet
and from there the solutions will diffuse
through odd chaotic cultural channels
to the Far East and from there to the West
and from the West to the ends of the earth
and then everybody on the planet
will have a chance to be reasonably
clean and happy say like most of the kids
on the “Dawson’s Creek” television show
were most of the time even though the kids
sometimes had sad moments of angst and grief.

I like to think that’s what those busy squirrels
are doing but probably they’re eating
the roses and pumpkins and playing with
the dried corn husks and torn up paper bags.

The next time I walk past the garden store
I’ll see if I can get a look inside.

If those squirrels are trying to change the world
I’m going to ask them to bring back jazz.

If they’re just chasing each other around
fuck it I’ll still ask them to bring back jazz.