You don’t hear his command,
so he delivers a bitter reprimand
and takes you down with a hard smack.
He teaches you a lesson with a whack
to the knee, a stab in your low back.
You take the abuse because you know
the slip was your fault – you owe
him attention, must give him his due.
But you blame the squirrel whose legs
wheeled unable to tread, a frozen ordeal
on the shiny white crust and you laughed.
Squirrel karma, ice drama.
Wounded, you howl inside, deny ice
any pleasure, and rise,
creep, creep, creep, so slow
you see bodies under his coat,
your future, and thank him for
the hint of your imminent sclerosis.
But not today. Today, you stand, perfumed
with fear and walk on. Later a bruise blooms
blue and yellow, and reassures you
spring is coming soon.