Squirrel/Lizard Brain


How many times
when walking in the woods
on a crisp autumn day
has the sound of a squirrel
or some other small thing–
rustle rustle
scritch scritch–
just innocently leaping,
going about its business amongst the leaves,
startles me ever so
in my perambulations
through its territory?

Squirrel becomes
rabid dog,
in my lizard brain.

How often have women
innocently mistaken
the shower,
the college dorm,
the backseat,
the office breakroom,
the family room,
the walk-in cooler at a restaurant
as a place of safety
where no
lizard brain
should be required?

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