Dropped

On its back on the footpath, a grey cat?
Not with that foxy tail: a squirrel, splayed
as if it had dropped from one of the ivied overhanging trees,
the mouth slightly agape, showing yellow cartoon incisors,
(the top two stained pink, as if its last fruit was a blackberry),

Dry and stiff, a study in taxidermy, no sign
of obvious damage; keeled slightly on one side,
creamy fur of his belly (it was a he alright)
shading to milky brown near the crop of his testicles,
one dark eye almost scraping the concrete.

The forepaws curled, their little grappling hooks
hooked to the air, securing the ghost of the last branch.
What the flipside deposits at our feet like a gift,
the redgrey streamer (so soft you'd want to stroke it)

stirring a little in the backwash from a passing car.