Squirrel

It’s Friday afternoon, eighty percent of the college population is gathering the necessary to last the long four-day weekend at home, or any location of choice. The majority of the people at my job have called in “sick,” some of the sincere ones just ask for a shift cover. I have no rush in getting on a bus and being stuck in traffic for an extra three hours, so I staid on campus, went to work and waited until the next day. At 2:30 pm, just like every other Friday, the silent Poet comes in smiling and in a rush. She tells me that she’s got a package and it’s going to be right back. She comes back, opened her package and shows me a black book, and starts telling me how nice those kinds of books are for writing. With no shame in my game, I deliver the question: “So, have you thought about my umm proposition if you will.” She asked me to explain my purpose again, but this time I make it more appealing and attractive based on the conversations we had before. I could almost see her saying yes, but I knew if I didn’t take advantage of this door opening, it could close forever. So I brought up the fact that the co-president of iSpeak said that the “before stuff sucks, and it’s about the feeling after permormind.” Her bottom jaw dropped in disagreement, landing on the keyboard, typing wow on the screen in caps. Squirrel, the silent poet, granted me permission to use her for my research.
Of course she put up conditions and regulations, but at that moment I could not have cared any less. I gathered myself back and gave her my respect; with that said, thank you “SQUIRRELL.” Although I’ve never read any pieces nor heard anything by squirrel, I have a feeling her talent is one worth being in the silent for.