Squirrels

Two squirrels in the park remind you of us,

And my keychain still hangs with your keys.

You say I can be anything I want 

And you’ve never read my poetry. 

On your front door, the paper dragon

I gave you for Chinese New Year.

You don’t like China—or dragons—

But you do like that I like it here.

My legs lie on your lap as you play

Video games with your friends. 

I read Fran Lebowitz and wait for 

Your kisses between breaks. 

We agree that some people shouldn’t have dogs,

And queuing for a cheesecake is stupid. 

There are too many specialty coffee shops. 

And certain degrees are useless. 

Your friend cried at a party last week,

So you patted him on the back. 

He apologized, you said it’s chill.

And simply left it at that. 

We talk annoyances since you met me—

Say I’ve only done it twice.

You can’t remember when or why,

And two’s not really worth a try.

Two squirrels in the park remind you of us,

And my keychain still hangs with your keys.

You say I can go anywhere I want, 

And that’s wherever you might be.