-breaking bread with the common birds-

          5/16/19

          in the morning they glide in, then it's a wing-flapping

          approach toward the empty feeder.

          it’s a natural touch and go.

          but the feeder's refilled and the birds fly back,

          land, commence to pecking seed and soon

          the base is laden with birds wing-to-wing, holding on
          for dear life, pecking seed like a bunch of lunatics.

          the standard double-feeder, purchased at Walmart

          for twelve bucks, is emptied of its morning’s seed

          by mid-afternoon.

          say what you will of the fierce-feeding piranha,

          they have nothing over the group of sparrows at my feeder.

          if this continues I’ll be broke by December.

         “breaking bread” is a common phrase,

          now free of its old and new testament shackles.

          on holidays, groups of friends and relations tend

          to gather and eat together around a festive table.

          the breaking of bread.

          three mornings past I was biting into a toasted

          Portuguese muffin glazed in raspberry jam,

          standing at the window as the birds feasted
          on seed at the freshly-filled feeder, and as I see it,

          and for the sake of early morning poetry, that's close enough

          to be considered the breaking of bread with the common birds.