Two days ago I saw a squirrel eat a donut.
The squirrel ran across the sidewalk in front of me
and I thought it had a crumpled piece of paper
that it was taking up a tree to build a nest
but I looked closely and saw it had a donut.
Someone had taken one bite out of a donut
and thrown it away at the curb. The squirrel found it
and then ran across the sidewalk in front of me
carrying the big donut and climbed up a tree.
I had a camera with me but by the time
I pulled it out of my pocket and switched it on
the squirrel was high up hidden by shadows and leaves.
I could see the squirrel. It had put down the donut
on a high branch right against the trunk of the tree
and braced the donut further with both its forepaws
as it ate the donut, taking small bites, chewing,
quickly devouring the donut by small bites.
I’ve never before seen a squirrel eat a donut.
I had a camera with me but by the time
I pulled it out of my pocket and switched it on
the squirrel was high up hidden by shadows and leaves.
Even with my zoom lens and digital assist
the leaves were so thick and the shadows were so dark
I didn’t even attempt a single picture
because it would have looked like a stick in Loch Ness
that someone photographs and thinks is the monster
or one of those photos of sunlight on bushes
that gets enlarged until it’s an abstract landscape
and then someone says they have proof they saw bigfoot.
So I can’t prove I saw a squirrel eat a donut.
I bet the squirrel was happy it found the donut.
It climbed up the nearest tree and ate it quickly.
I’ve been thinking about the squirrel and its donut
for two days. The squirrel ate the donut in minutes.
I have no authority to appeal to here—
I have no photograph and no other witness.
So I can’t prove I saw a squirrel eat a donut.
My squirrel memory is like a stick in Loch Ness
that someone photographs and thinks is the monster
or one of those photos of sunlight on bushes
that gets enlarged until it’s an abstract landscape
and then someone says they have proof they saw bigfoot
but my memory is even less persuasive
because I have no artifact of any kind.
So I can’t prove I saw a squirrel eat a donut.
But I did. And it was pretty funny looking,
a squirrel carrying a donut missing one bite.
It made me smile. The squirrel seemed to enjoy it, too.
The squirrel ate the donut in minutes. I’m still here.
Or there, I mean. Watching. Although I can’t prove it.
The squirrel ran across the sidewalk in front of me
and I thought it had a crumpled piece of paper
that it was taking up a tree to build a nest
but I looked closely and saw it had a donut.
Someone had taken one bite out of a donut
and thrown it away at the curb. The squirrel found it
and then ran across the sidewalk in front of me
carrying the big donut and climbed up a tree.
I had a camera with me but by the time
I pulled it out of my pocket and switched it on
the squirrel was high up hidden by shadows and leaves.
I could see the squirrel. It had put down the donut
on a high branch right against the trunk of the tree
and braced the donut further with both its forepaws
as it ate the donut, taking small bites, chewing,
quickly devouring the donut by small bites.
I’ve never before seen a squirrel eat a donut.
I had a camera with me but by the time
I pulled it out of my pocket and switched it on
the squirrel was high up hidden by shadows and leaves.
Even with my zoom lens and digital assist
the leaves were so thick and the shadows were so dark
I didn’t even attempt a single picture
because it would have looked like a stick in Loch Ness
that someone photographs and thinks is the monster
or one of those photos of sunlight on bushes
that gets enlarged until it’s an abstract landscape
and then someone says they have proof they saw bigfoot.
So I can’t prove I saw a squirrel eat a donut.
I bet the squirrel was happy it found the donut.
It climbed up the nearest tree and ate it quickly.
I’ve been thinking about the squirrel and its donut
for two days. The squirrel ate the donut in minutes.
I have no authority to appeal to here—
I have no photograph and no other witness.
So I can’t prove I saw a squirrel eat a donut.
My squirrel memory is like a stick in Loch Ness
that someone photographs and thinks is the monster
or one of those photos of sunlight on bushes
that gets enlarged until it’s an abstract landscape
and then someone says they have proof they saw bigfoot
but my memory is even less persuasive
because I have no artifact of any kind.
So I can’t prove I saw a squirrel eat a donut.
But I did. And it was pretty funny looking,
a squirrel carrying a donut missing one bite.
It made me smile. The squirrel seemed to enjoy it, too.
The squirrel ate the donut in minutes. I’m still here.
Or there, I mean. Watching. Although I can’t prove it.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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Boo!
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