This is untitled.
She's feeding the local birds,
Bemoaning upstaters who let their dogs off the leash
in the park.
Today, this park is finally not crowded enough
for me to have to pass through without sitting on one
of its gnarly comfort benches.
The crank degeneration, my last secret friend.
Friend,
I forget how to spell friend, friend, fried N.
OK, friend.
Chalk hearts are cheesy,
But not when skated through by pigeons
and hopped through by sparrows getting to know you.
The blue jays, warblers, robins, red tailed hawks, and grackles,
and woodpeckers remain reticent, rightly, regarding contact.
The starlings though signal conversations possible later,
maybe.