Kerfuffle Of The Soul

By Abhradeep Bhattacharjee

You’ve waited on the crosswalk for ages—

Watching the squirrels clamber up

Some forgotten evolutionary ladder

Etched into the railings of the house

That stands now all heaving—

So tense, all hemmed in;

Right out there

In front of you.

And the ladder is rusty,

It lies on its side

The squirrels are all fighting now—

Their tails swiftly flashing;

Like the worst insults you can think of

Writ upon quicksand.

And they all seem to be whistling

A tune so plush with rage,

It’d turn Sidney Lumet upside-down,

Make him blush a baker’s dozen.

Bursting with such unbridled vanity,

It’d make Putin kiss his cousin.

And there, old incorrigible you,

You sing along with them

Again, as is the ritual now.

Hell, it’s such idiocy but

I can’t help but admire you.

Though I think it’s high time

That you realised

That you were never really in danger, dear;

The courts were always closed.

And all that broke your perfect streak

Was a kerfuffle of the soul.

By Abhradeep Bhattacharjee