Doris Lynch
Fast Food a la Squirrel

We stain our hands coffee
stealing the squirrels' food.

Green husks ricochet off the roof
sounding their own private artillery.

Each shell shelters a curled possibility of tree.
Rolling potentiality in our hands, we guess

myriad caches nestle the roots of apple trees.
Does blood mix underground?

Apple-walnut, apple-walnut, apple-walnut:
meal mantra for hungry squirrels.

At noon cicadas join in, ranting
about the gluttony of men.

Women too. Let's not forget
our crimson apron pockets bulging.

Later, after curing and culling,
some nuts taste bitter on the tongue.

Others, sweet as earth itself
sugared with DNA of leaf and limb.