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Friday, April 12, 2013


Sitting quietly in the den,
sipping my morning coffee,
deciding between poetry and
the L.A. Times crossword.
Suddenly a loud thump,
from the kitchen,
all too familiar.
It can only mean one thing:
a broken window or
a broken neck.
A quick dash and glance,
no shattered glass.
A slanted peek at the patio,
no broken bird.
No birds at all at the feeder.
Well, one, a cooper’s hawk,
a big one, smiling that smile
through its eyes.
Missed that one, it seems to say.
Next time.
Oh, and thanks for the feeders.
I’m always hungry.

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