do you take this bird...

the big male,
black
as India ink,
mounts from the rear,
wings half-spread,
shuddering,
twitching

I can hear him
somewhere
in his blackbird
brain gasping

hooboy...
hooboy...
hoooooooboy

meanwhile,
the female meekly
attends to his needs,
not paying a lot of
attention
to this erotic tableau
despite being
a part of it

things to do

things
to do, twigs
to gather,
nests to build

things
things
things to do

if a bird
could yawn

she would

and it's another fine day when nothing happens

it's not
an exciting life I lead,
but I'm not such an exciting guy
so that's just fine with me

no scary movies or conflict for me,
no rushing to and fro chasing dreams
or demons or wealth or power over events

that used to be me, but now I prefer
to start slow in the morning and keep
that pace for the rest of the day

nobody cares much for what I think
of the issues of the day, especially
not those who could make things
different,
so I prefer smaller thoughts
closer to home and closer to me

I like sitting in little coffee shops
writing little poems that come and go
in the larger world like saltine crackers,
crunchy, a little salty on your tongue,
then gone
and mostly forgotten

I like keeping my decisions small,
the flavor of jelly to put on my toast,
the kind of sauce for my pasta, rare
or medium rare when I grill my steak

that's enough excitement for me