Bad Landing

The window glass hums,

a faint, persistent buzz.

I try to read the screen,

but the outside does

its own thing. A flicker

of gray, then a blur

of fat, quick fur.

The squirrel aims high,

a leap from the old fence post.

But something was off,

he missed the target most.

A wet, solid slap

against the vinyl siding.

Then a slow slide down,

a quiet, furry hiding.

Left a smear there,

a damp dark streak,

like a failed idea

he didn't dare to speak.