The Squirrel

I saw a squirrel this morning

under shopping carts, at the A& P,

without  any warning

scurrying everywhere, seemingly carefree,

for the stray nut

or morsel of food

they do nothing but

they brighten one’s mood

with their speed so jerky

impossible to caress

their movements so quirky

telephone wire homes’ address

not long before,

with a friend at prayer,

not God to implore

but together to share

doubts and dismay

about life and its use

early feelings falling prey

to our minds on the loose

Left with a sigh

surrender to living

so frightened to die

we fall back to giggling

like kids in a classroom

carefree, immortal

a respite from doom

from life's final portal.

I wonder today,

so soon to Yom Kippur

is there something to say

that can rid me of the bitter

truth, clutching and rolling,

like the darting squirrel

we whirl and twirl

death's ringing bell tolling,

another year of closer to 

who shall live? who shall die?

where to find the clue

whether low or high?

in a parking lot

or up a tree

like a squirrel not yet caught

skittish  and free.