THE SQUIRREL
On a tree beside the pavement,
a grey squirrel, on a bright autumn day,
leaps from branch to branch.
A few metres away,
a long, thick iron fence
stands three metres tall.
“Be careful,” I whisper.
“They have taken almost everything
from people.”
A hazelnut in its mouth,
the squirrel leaps, unaware,
from one tree to another,
towards the building behind the bars.
“Hold on to your nut, little one.
They might take that too.”
Parliament.
