Summer in Rittenhouse Squarebyavasogently©
Squawking over acoustic-guitar runs,
He dashed across the leaf-carpeted grass,
Insistent to protect his turf
Against the sparrows near the nest.
Syncopated chirping so profane
Let loose on a breezy stage
For all to hear and obey,
From reclining nature boys to the bespectacled sage.
“These are my nuts,
Hoarded in good care,”
Sir Squirrel seems to proclaim,
Rattling his bushy tail at whoever’s to blame.