Flying Squirrels

We’ve been going to this park, and there
the Bald Man uses a thing called
a Tee-R-Ex to cause him to
sweat and wince and do
heavy with the
breathing.

Here’s a thing I know to be true:
there are two parrots in that
cage, yonder. And I’m not
even kidding. I have put
my nose against the
metal frame, and I have inhaled
deeply and with a deeply-curious intent.

I can assure you they are parrots.
I can assure you there are two of them.

And here’s another thing I know to
be true: The Bald
Man will talk for days about
the high-bar, hand-stand,
flying squirrel he keeps
seeing here.

But we’ve never seen it. This flying
squirrel. This apparitional, aerial
rodent. And trust me: I have looked.
There is nothing I take more
seriously than a potential
squirrel situation.

I feel sorry for him, the poor
bastard. I feel bad about
his failing vision and
his squirrel-dogged
brain.



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