Flying Squirrels by Jackson Tham
In the rattling, clattering darkness
of the concrete cellar
the squirrels chase each other round and round.
They tumble in the basement beneath my feet.
Nails scratch and scrabble at the insides
of the beige walls.
My study vibrates, the desk lamp trembling
in the early hours when
the traffic light leaks though my window.
Once one appeared on my desk
twitching in the warm pool of light.
We stared at each other, eyes wide, waiting.