The old man with a walking stick pointed it at the squirrels in the graveyard. He told the little kid walking with him that the squirrels were vermin. The kid said he liked them and wanted one as a pet. The old man answered, ‘No way’.
Ten years later, the old man with the walking stick now dead and buried, the same kid, now older, taller and on a skateboard, kick-flipping his way through the same graveyard saw a squirrel sat on his dead granddad’s headstone.
A girl with a camera was taking photos of the squirrel sat on the old man’s headstone. The kid, now older, taller and still on his skateboard, circling her, asked why she was taking pics of vermin. She never answered, just looked the kid up and down, then carried on taking shots.
Another ten years later, the world was coming to an end. The kid wasn’t a kid anymore. Now he was grown up and one of the few humans left alive following the apocalyptic asteroid crash. Seriously hungry, he broke into what was left of a farm, saw live chickens in a coop. Better still, he saw there were eggs to nick. That meant he’d not have to strangle the chickens. He didn’t fancy that. What he did do was to break in and start collecting eggs for himself.
Just as he was about to run off with a decent handful of eggs, the girl with the camera he’d met a decade earlier appeared out of nowhere. Like last time, she had a camera. But not like last time, she had a friendly little squirrel sat on her shoulder. ‘Snap’ – she took a photo of the thief. He asked her ‘Why? What’s the point of that?’
‘Squirrels get called vermin because they nick eggs. Who’s the vermin now?’
Time for some music. An curated instrumental from my album called ‘Scandinavian Something’. I hope you enjoy.
As ever, if any poets out there are interested in having your poems turned into songs then click here to check it out: POETRY TO SONG
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