the old woman breathes in the balmy harbor air of her 70th Memorial Day Weekend,
only to yell obscenities at the fat grey squirrel who occupies her bird feeder
through cuss words and hand gestures,
the fat grey squirrel finds itself on the other side of the lawn,
while the old woman disappears--
only to reappear,
with a package of chalky rolls and her cigarettes
as she begins to carelessly toss decaying pieces of yeast
around the almost green blades of summer,
I question her actions
she replies, Virginia Slim separating her pursed lips--
"maybe now they'll stay away from my goddamn bird feeder!"
I then analyze my thoughts...
maybe I'm the crazy one
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