Speaking of Rilke’s kitschy unicorn:
walking down the alley, noticed a blond girl laughing, shrieking,
retreating toward her friend from a recycling bin.
”There’s a squirrel in there! I’m scared!”
“Did you say there’s a squirrel in that blue bin?" I approached
them— “Don’t you want to let him out?
"I feel sorry for the squirrel”—
walking over and lifting the lid.
Two seconds later, squirrel two feet above the bin lip
trying to scramble up the garage wall.
“He really shot out of there, didn’t he?” I laughed,
but the girls didn’t reciprocate.
I think they were relieved the squirrel got his freedom back,
but I’m not absolutely sure.
walking down the alley, noticed a blond girl laughing, shrieking,
retreating toward her friend from a recycling bin.
”There’s a squirrel in there! I’m scared!”
“Did you say there’s a squirrel in that blue bin?" I approached
them— “Don’t you want to let him out?
"I feel sorry for the squirrel”—
walking over and lifting the lid.
Two seconds later, squirrel two feet above the bin lip
trying to scramble up the garage wall.
“He really shot out of there, didn’t he?” I laughed,
but the girls didn’t reciprocate.
I think they were relieved the squirrel got his freedom back,
but I’m not absolutely sure.
