Stolid, dull and stodgy
a percent of every
poem words that plod, they’re
dodgy, for the public,
just to show ‘em
there’s a rhyme scheme and flow—
um, my directional skills
point to a course correction.
I’ll relinquish expectations;
my view a bird show fills.
Red-winged blackbirds’ treetop
battle, the green heron’s on
the dock. The hungry swallow
chicks are chirping at this nosy
sparrow hawk—the fluttering, the
preening, the diving and the squawks
at this cusp of sky and water
—me, I’m watching on the ground,
just giving up the prompts today
for this excitement that I’ve found.