Extreme Squirrels

The New Season

Up in the pin oaks and silver maples
still leafless,
squirrels scramble, leap, fly--
their tiny hands grip leaf buds
as they swing under one branch
and over another.
They balance on twigs,
bounce along the switches
and vault onto our deck,
never still--even as they eat
their tails quiver.

Through the sliding glass
my cats watch the squirrels,
craning their necks as the
gatherers work our yard.

Cats are always supposed to land feet down
so I wonder if mine
await that sudden awkward moment
the lapse in judgement,
the jump just a whisker off,
that will send one of these
nut-seekers plunging to earth.

It’s never happened
that I can see
but the cats shift onto their sides
and--in front of their wide screen--
wait for the fall.