His spectacles are distinguished
(though really just for show.)
His beard, quite neatly trimmed.
He moves with deft indifference,
through the morning woods.
To catch a fleeing squirrel,
the tail 's the easiest bit.
Legs? Too small and busy
running and gathering.
The ears are busier yet
hearing threatening things.
But tails are just for balance.
They're nice and bushy, too.
They trail behind the quickness,
as tails so often do.
So that is what he grabs,
the Squirrel Inspector General,
he grabs them by the tails,
and leaves their wee paws pedaling.
Their little hearts beat faster
than those paws against the air.
He inspects the pulse precisely,
judges their rate and fear.
Once he's got his numbers,
he drops them to the ground.
They flee into the undergrowth
and freeze to look around.
Back inside his cruiser,
he marks down each new record
to aggregate the speed and energy
of the world's inspected squirrels.
Crimes against the universe
is what he tabulates.
These critters have an excess spirit
and he is lacking his.
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