Two poems by Mike Estabrook

For those of us with rats in our lofts (and possibly bats in our belfries) and facing the prospect on Wednesday of going back to the day job after the holidays, here are two timely pieces by Mike Estabrook…

CHIPMUNKS


Yes we have become overrun
by chipmunks
but I like the little guys,
yesterday a baby,
big as a fist, sat there
on the lawn not scurrying away
until I was right up on him,
the thought of rabies flicked
through my mind seeing as
they are usually gone
when you get within a mile
but no, no rabies,
guess he hasn't yet become accustomed
to frightful death-dealing ways
of us humans.
Bob was telling me just yesterday
how he got a squirrel out of his house
by “plugging him in the head
with my 22.”


CRAP
Remember that all that crap going on at work:
the new boss, Mr. Corporate Company Man,
who has more action lists and projects lists
and deliverables lists
than storms have rain clouds,
the new reorganization up top
So-And-So now the executive VP of blah-blah,
Mr. Snooty BigWig now the Director
of this and that . . .
Fat Cat Big Cheese now running the start-up
division in the far east . . .
the recent explosion of meetings
like mushrooms popping onto a dead pine tree,
all of it, every single bit of it, every scrap of it,
is crap, pure crap, because it really
doesn't matter at all,
not now or ever in the past or the future,
one damn little hill of beans.


Mike Estabrook lives in New England and says of himself “I'm the
marketing communications manager for a tiny division of a gigantic
company, and man, going into an office every day can be excruciating. I
should've stayed on Northfield Avenue instead where I belong and
learned to fix cars like my Daddy did.” We published a couple of his prose poems back in October.

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