Inside his hollow stump, Squirrel was hiding,
hunched over a squirrel-typewriter, writing.
When he finished a sentence, his eyes seemed to linger
on the words freshly typed with small squirrel fingers.
Writing usually calmed him and put him at ease
(that’s why he had two squirrel writing degrees).
His pecks at the keys lacked their normal devotion.
His nervousness showed through his weary hand motion.
For the previous hour, Squirrel was keenly aware
that outside his stump, was a hungry mean Bear.
Squirrel did his best to keep Bear out of his head,
“If I’m safe in my stump, I’ll be safely… not dead.”
“So I’ll write a short story!” said Squirrel with a cry,
while silently hoping he wouldn’t become squirrel pie.
At first he wrote as a simple distraction,
but soon he became invested in his story’s action.
His tale was also about a talking squirrel,
though this one was more charming and better with girls.
His situation was similar to Squirrel’s, but more optimistic
(Honestly, the story was awful. Squirrels are so narcistic.)
His writing was lazy and sometimes he lied,
but first person narration left him self-satisfied.
The typewriter clattered and Squirrel let out a smile,
“This is actually really good, I could be here a while!”
He sipped at his scotch, before he began the third act,
but curiously, still heard the typewriter’s “clack”.
Bear’s claws finally made their way through the stump,
And enjoyed himself a nice squirrel lunch.