Observing from the Treetops

 
She said I was “so quiet”.
I smiled and thought
  that’s because I have little to say
  about comings and goings I can’t track,
  drama and gossip I never understand,
  faceless names I’ll forget tomorrow.
Your words buzz around my head like gnats
  and I am not a part of all that.

It’s not that I don’t try to speak.
My commentary is simply
  the wrong shape
  to penetrate their ear holes
Words tumble from tongue to floor
  getting nothing but blank glances
  as if I farted or confessed an unsavory sin
  or made random squirrel noises in Greek
  and they just don’t know what to do with that.

Who knows, maybe I really am speaking Squirrel.
  After all, I watch from the treetops
    observing a wider angle,
      perceiving the characters
        behind the performances.

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