Squirrel, you did what you could.
We lost our power for three hours.
That’s five dozen trees
or the moon
or whatever they make power out of.
Now you are toast and there’s no one left
to torch SUVs
or blow up dams.
Perhaps another squirrel
will take your place.
I hope it’s the one
living in my attic.
He is noisy
and deserves to be arrested.
My feet churned the dust like a tornado.
I approached Edinburgh
and then the continent went dark.
The wedding photographer was drunk.
He took pictures of ruins, of history.
An esplanade of smoking sphinxes
and grey coliseums
where we had lived once.
My body was all that was left,
whisking the ashes,
a relic of weather and population.
Love French restaurants!
When I visit la belle France,
Just plain restaurants.
First draft
First person
Last chance