Migration On A Bad Day
Met her in the driveway, blue band-aid
on her thumb because the rush came strong
I saw the Redstart in the apple blooms,
ticking orange to black: the migration was on
She had a shit day borne on a twitching
crease of lip, because she couldn't stand the gruel
He clung to a fist of last autumn's fruit
I was too damned lazy to pick and lapped
She said, "the chef's a prick. Gave me thirty-two quarts
of cukes on my prep-list and the first ticket hit before
His mate alights flit olive and flush yellow
on the growing-tip sagging west. The tree was too close
to the shack.
"I'm out. I'm done. That dumb son
of a bitch can find someone else to take up his slack.
I just can't..."
As tear stalled long on her jaw, the breeding pair spiraled gone
in a low sun, leaving birds in the driveway fledged in the nest of