Imagine This - March 23, 2022

you’re writing poetry on a garden

bench in the summer shade

of an old oak tree among

thousands of nut shells

late afternoon light breeze

noisy squirrels zipping

here there

one curious enough

to sit near your shoulder

with teeth deep into a fat acorn

peers onto your page

then drops his dinner

and runs

leaving you holding

the obvious question

nibbling on it

with both hands