DC Playwrights

on the way to the library of congress,
a tourist took the squirrel’s picture.
“he didn’t even ask,” said the squirrel.
“like some methed up paparazzi.
don’t they have squirrels back in omaha or san marcos
or wherever these people are from?” he added.

“same thing happened to me yesterday,”
i told the squirrel.
i was sitting on the steps of the national archives
and this family walked up.
the little girl said, “look, daddy, a homeless man.”

after they took their pictures,
telling me to pose in profile
and then in three quarter,
changing lenses all the while –
the man asked,
“you mind taking our picture?”
i replied, “no, problem, citizen.”

he handed me his expensive-looking nikon,
and while he gathered his lovely wife,
disinterested teenage son,
and jonbenet ramsey darling of a daughter,
i ran across the street and ducked into the sculpture garden.

“that’ll teach him,” said the squirrel.