Even the squirrel's tail is laconic,
bedraggled in the heat. Sidewalk worms
have wriggled themselves ragged,
writhing into one more ironic
twitch away from the rescuer who'd
toss them to grass. They know the
robins like them juicy, not dried.
They'll die flash-fried to concrete.
Even worms thirst after pride,
spite the predator by dying first.
Pamela Sumners is a constitutional and civil rights lawyer who loves poems, her wife, her trans son, and three gassy dogs.