Squire Squirrel Squeaked Poem by James McLain

Bread crumbs, french fries.
I cut through the park, to make something happy
in desperation any thing.
The bench was clean well oiled, from a prior occupant.
That made me happy for the small things, bench burns hurt to.
My nurse said I have to be back by three, and don't give my name in with strangers who breaths on me to hard.I was willing to plead up
to anything
just to keep her hands out of my head to day.
She never wraps my head right, I can smell it healing.
I was asleep before you, the warm sun, filling me with vitamins, my friends had all borrowed.
I awakened into the arms angels, taking me to heaven, to change the wrapping on my head.
They said, they have received to many costumer's, from the nurse,
while one dipped honey, for me to pour into her coffee.