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Life Goes On in Potterville
Posted by Beverly Tsao
Mother mockingbird lures
lawnmower away from her
wayward chicks, one wing spread wide,
limping in the grass
like it�s her last day on earth.
Four gray chicks, lemon-yellow beaks
lift in unison,
separated by tall grass
waiting patiently
for grasshopper dinner,
buzzard circling above them,
father mockingbird dive-bombing
its ugly red head.
Language of lawnmower,
all chuff and sputtle
and petroleum smoke
in the air mimicking the cough
of an old man smoking
his Cuban cigar,
his mower inching closer
to the baby birds
while children form lines
at the local bookstore
eagerly waiting
for owling time. One
wanders away from her friend.
She will come home weeks later
in a black body bag.
Why am I weeping anyway?
Chicks fall from nests every day.
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