POP-UP BUFFET

The cranes walk together
as a pair, announcing
themselves loudly,
strolling across the lawn
headed for the one yard
where the sod has been
torn out to allow regrading.

The equipment has paused
and they take this
as an invitation, stopping
for a large meal
at the new buffet,
certain that this
was done just for them
and perhaps a few ibis,
should they happen along.

Tomorrow this will be
once again a lawn
and the cranes will
express their displeasure
before looking for a new
place to dine.

AVIAN CONUNDRUM

The woodpeckers here seem
quite content to beat their heads
against palm trees, which I am not
certain should qualify as trees,
not a ring to be seen if you cut
one down, but they tend to fall
before you get to that point.

The most common woodpecker
is the red bellied, which itself
is odd since his head is bright red
his belly with a pinkish tinge,
but that is so Florida I suppose
naming things for what you want
but not at all what they seem to be.

I could go on but the ibis are upset
that an armadillo is wander across
the yard interrupting their lunch.

A MESSAGE HOME

What I want to tell her is this:
it’s fitting, perfectly, that you
who so assiduously hid the past
from me, your past and mine,
now bars your entry, refusing you
even the briefest glimpse.
You want so to grab onto it
to have it carry you to a place
removed from here by time
and distance, where it is warm
and most of the time, cozy.
It is also fitting that you
call out his name, as though
he was in the yard
pruning a tree, delaying dinner,
the same he you cursed
glad to have him out of your life
and out of your house,
you wished him dead
so that you might call yourself
a widow and share
condolences with the other
black draped women.
You never mentioned
the six months of foster care
or the little sister who came
and went so quickly
when he had the audacity
to drop dead on you one morning.
This is what I would say to her,
this is the curse I would
place upon her
but she no longer
recognizes me, I am no more
than a well dressed orderly
come to remove her lunch tray.


First Published in Riding the Meridian 1999/1;2