December 31st

Sitting in a local Toyota dealership, waiting for a flurry of mechanics to complete their work, thinking of 2016, an end, I thought of a squirrel.

December 31st

A squirrel rummages
through the sunflower seeds
strewn on the cold dirt

beneath the birdfeeder
as a gray woman,
stooped beneath the burdens

of her age,
squeezes melons
in the produce aisle,

sniffing each,
the sweetest is needed,
and the finest seed

before the afternoon
cracks bearing
twilight’s terrible heft.

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