Dumpster Divers Behind Pizza Pie Cafe

blackbirds eat pizza

Instead of four and twenty blackbirds

singing to the queen,

four fledgling blackbirds

vie for pizza pie.

Ecstasy

 

dog in truck

If I were a dog

I’d long for a warm spring day in Idaho

 

 

I’d hang my head out the pickup window

and bark at the driver to go faster

 

 

we’d rush down Hankins Road

my long blond ears flapping in the wind

 

 

drinking in the freshness of newly plowed earth

and the tantalizing odor of last night’s skunk

 

 

panting joyously I’d leap from the truck

and chase the perfume of rock chucks

 

 

roll exuberantly

in the lush spring grass and slurp from the ditch

 

 

if I were a dog

 

Impotent

whippet behind fence

Kenneled, caged, corralled,

she barked; she moaned; she howled;

and the cat walked by.

Sentries

bird sentinelsTwenty-two still sentinels atop a leafless tree

 waiting for whatever black birds wait for

in the winter.

Spring Awakening

bear-in-forestAfter two days of fasting

and a brutal colon cleanse,

I stagger from my lair,

haggard, washed-out,

depleted, drained,

sure that I am hungry

but not quite ready to forage.

After a brief sashay

out of hibernation

and a cup of yogurt,

I resume sleeping.

The next day my hunger

awakens with me.

I’m sorry for the she-bear

who must search for

grass and berries.

I greedily devour

a piece of homemade bread

slathered with butter

followed by a large

glass of milk,

each mouthful a prayer

of thanksgiving,

the milk precious nectar.

 

De-clawed

vanilla-the-cat

From her cover

behind the euonymus,

deadly talons

lashed out.

Dogs cowered

and even people

paid homage.

Behind a screen

of grape vines,

she crept, inching,

black ninja silent,

tail beating a slow,

metronomic trance,

eyes, burning coals,

then, bam!

a small bird lay dead.

 

Now,

the deadly

killer skulks

inside the garage;

snowy tufts of hair

fall out in clumps;

mice no longer

skirt the yard;

the graveyard

of feathers

is gone.

Today,

she mews

in her refuge,

a shadow

of her former

assassin-self.

 

 

My mother-in-law,

no less vital

than the cat,

used to wield

a wooden spoon

like a wand,

conjuring up gravy

and mashed potatoes

that caused people

to moan and swoon,

bringing down the

brawny defenses

of hulking

farm workers

with rhubarb pies

and whipping cream.

 

 

Now, ancient,

like the cat,

her world is

a room

peopled with

recurring memories,

memories

of days gone by

where truth

and fiction

intermingle,

of a time

when her spatula

was a spear,

her frying pan

fortress.

Provident Living

squirrel with seed

On the first frigid day of fall

two squirrels scavenge

for nuts and seeds in the

lightly falling snow.

 

Why don’t they cozy up

in their squirrel hole

as soon as the weather

turns frosty?

 

How do they know

they should glean

before they dip

into their winter supply?

 

Do squirrel mothers

teach their children

the difference between

convenience and necessity?

Messengers from Cerberus

running rottweiler

Struck apoplectic,

I stared, stunned–

as twin Rottweilers

leapt in unison

with the precision

of circus animals

and burst through

their wooden fence

as if it were a paper hoop.