June 2020
Author's Note: Here’s something cheerful that arose from making occasional visits to a
friend who at that time lived in Cross Plains, Wisconsin— where the bird population outnumbered the
human beings.
Extravaganza at Dave's
The house in this poem is not my house,
the red oaks arching over it not my trees—
but every time I come here, the birds
are glad to see me. They catch me spying on them
through the wide window and begin
to dance for joy— twirler, skyrocketer,
cartwheeler, prima ballerina, star performer
in the Cirque de Soleil of June.
Shirttail cousins, that’s what they are—
related but distant, separable— each troupe
rehearsing its own routines and attitudes.
I watch them dive, then flutterup and catapult
for a sunflower seed—maintaining the careful
pecking order, the given choreography.
Through the screen, I hear the massed chorale
of the entire ensemble: cardinal, jay,
woodpecker, jay, robin, junco, bunting,
jay, jay, jay.
©2020 Marilyn Taylor
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author (email address above) to tell her or him. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual.
It is very important. -JL