The Work of Small Birds

Juncos and Nuthatches wait for Magpies to stop

pecking the suet basket, clean up crumbs

they drop. Chickadees wait too. On winter break,

I wait for my husband to return from work

after doing my own work grading journals.

Work: that giant, voracious, black and white bird,

shoulders blue-sheened with empty praise

of nobility to replace adequate compensation,

that racket scaring off the timid beaks in our chests

longing for anything new to do in this small town

beyond observing birds, walking the dog, witnessing

a shawl of cloud slip over silent mountains, binging

the lives of fictional characters from a coach seat,

that sedentary train of working-class, world travel,

our basket robbed of opportunity, something

greasy, something seedy to feed our small hours.