Tom Sheehan (poem) "Rolling Out The Blankets in Saugus" in Literary Potpourri

Crouched, attentive, ears
alive in the yard, a gray
squirrel's bent like an old
safecracker waiting upon
tumbler information.

                                       His
forepaws, geared for nutting,
bark climbers, hang like hands
for clapping waiting finish,
the near silent aria of clicks,
a fallen nut, a number past zero

                                        one
more time. Will they ever hang
his picture in the post office,
grayer than he is gray, serious
just before winter, yegg man,
second story, third story man?

                                        I won-
der, does he hear it clicker down,
that nut, secret number past zero,
or tense it; how many generations
've led him to maple leaf clutch
higher than my peak, my flag pole

                                        a-flut-
er? All this time, all these years
of gray squirrel, yegg man, tumble-
tuner, it's been Georgina Jostlings
just before winter, how she carried
a blanket in the back of her car to

                                        cover
sands, cooled grasses, pine needles
wet with October's last call, fall's
energies, where her cheeks positioned
dark acceptance. How'd I miss all
of that? Thinking numbers, most likely,

                                              zero
by the boards, tumblers with two minds;
arithmetic of connection, professor
Georgina, backyard squirrel, gray thing
counting as winter comes on, the longer
nights of hearing nothing, the soft fall.

home
	Poem by Tom Sheehan ROLLING OUT THE BLANKETS IN SAUGUS ©2003 Lovey Squirrel page Crouched, attentive, ears alive in the yard, a gray squirrel's bent like an old safecracker waiting upon tumbler information. His forepaws, geared for nutting, bark climbers, hang like hands for clapping waiting finish, the near silent aria of clicks, a fallen nut, a number past zero one more time. Will they ever hang his picture in the post office, grayer than he is gray, serious just before winter, yegg man, second story, third story man? I won- der, does he hear it clicker down, that nut, secret number past zero, or tense it; how many generations 've led him to maple leaf clutch higher than my peak, my flag pole a-flut- er? All this time, all these years of gray squirrel, yegg man, tumble- tuner, it's been Georgina Jostlings just before winter, how she carried a blanket in the back of her car to cover sands, cooled grasses, pine needles wet with October's last call, fall's energies, where her cheeks positioned dark acceptance. How'd I miss all of that? Thinking numbers, most likely, zero by the boards, tumblers with two minds; arithmetic of connection, professor Georgina, backyard squirrel, gray thing counting as winter comes on, the longer nights of hearing nothing, the soft fall. § § § Tom Sheehan has received a Silver Rose Award for Excellence in the Art of the Short Story from American Renaissance for the Twenty-first Century (ART) for "The Man Who Hid Music," and three nominations for Pushcart Prize from The Paumanok Review and Three Candles. His piece, "The Three Fisherman," won first prize at London's Eastoftheweb's 2002 nonfiction competition. His novel, "Vigilantes East," was released from Publish America in 2002 (on Amazon and Barnes& Noble). A second novel, "An Accountable Death," is currently serialized on 3amMagazine.com, a Paris web site, which has also used four short stories, a Korean War poem with pictures and a five-page interview. A third novel is coming this year, "Death for the Phantom Receiver," his NFL mystery, from Publish America. You can reach him at tomsheehan@attbi.com . Editor's note: If you enjoyed this poem, Tom's new book of poetry "This Rare Earth & Other Flights" is shipping in the month of June. Order your copy NOW of this limited run: LIT POT PRESS GO TO NEXT PAGE