1.

We know why he wants us.
Borers in the rhododendron
are turning them to skeleton,
so he nailed a wooden box
onto the overlooking oak
in the hope we'll move in.

My wife says, "It looks snug,
cool in the summer,
warm in winter, dry,
and out of reach of skunks
and snakes. Let's take
a look in it, at least."

It's not that I don't trust him
or that rhododendron borers
aren't sweet. It's principle.
If we accept a roof today,
and coupons for our meal,
what will tomorrow bring?

What was chicken's first step
on the slippery slope to
feckess clucking?

2.

She said, "It is all your
fault! If we had moved
into that birdhouse,
a raccoon would not be
clawing at our chicks."
I didn't try to protest

but truth be told, I miss
the crack in the old ash.
This hut sways in wind,
and if the raccoon wants
to terrorize us here too,
what's to stop it?

But the new brood's thriving
and my wife's content.
The rhododendron borers
make a damn good
breakfast and everybody
says that I'm a lucky bird.

Still, nothing smells right
and at night I miss
the rustling of the sap.

3.

Don't let her eye-stripe
and her gonys fool you,
my wife is generally
a pretty laid-back bird:
but very narrow-minded
about possums.

We sittids are known
for horny tongues
but when she really
gets worked up about
our downtrunk neighbors,
it unnerves me.

"Rat-eyed, flea-bitten,
worm-tailed, slow!
Deaf, dumb and blind!
Less discriminating
than the dog, less
conscience than the crow!"

When I remind her
that our chicks are listening
she says, "I know."

4.

The dawn the possum kits
torn limb from limb
litter the ground
beneath our oak,
we can still hear
the raccoons gloat

in their big knothole
in the beech. My wife's
eyes well with tears.
"Those stupid possums,"
she denounces,
"are giving them ideas!"

The borers are thinning,
the chicks just fledged,
it seems like time
for us to close shop
in the nuthatch house.
"Let's move," I say,
"the flickers in the maple
smelled azalea weevils
several houses up."

You would have thought
I said "I met another
tree-mouse hen."
She yells "Good riddance!
I know we mate for life,
but count me out if you
turn tail, back down
and give in to those
viper-eyed raccoons!
I'm going to stay
right here, put up a
self-respecting fight!"

5.

The possum buck is
also creeping toward
the ground,
eyes dull as pearls.
He stops. "My wife says
Stay, it's not your fault.
But even hunting slugs,
I can't stop smelling
my dead girls."

tom, your readers may have to drag you screaming and hollerin' to the bookshelf, but you are writing a book--not sure what it is, and i'm sure you're not either, but the book is there and forming right before our eyes. 

you give life to life and more life.

and i can say 'i knew you when'.

cheryl

Thanks for the read and encouragement, Cheryl. Knowing one another "when" is good. Tom

well tom, i haven't read the other selections that accompany this piece, or know if there are any, but wanted to leave a few notes anyway.  really dig this scene, love the personification given to the birds and the parallels drawn between the actions and emotions of animals and humans.  i saw this relationship playing out as i read and found myself cracking up! in 1 for some reason my eyes want to read that last stanza as "was it....?"  in 4 "motherfucking fight" for some reason doesn't work for me, like it's out of character.  love that last section and ending with "dead girls".  really enjoy what's happening here tom. -lawrence

Lawrence, thanks for reading and your thoughts. You're probably right about the "motherfucking" -- when in doubt, usually don't belong there! Tom

moving from Workshop to Submit board..

Tom, good poem. It is rather long but you worked so well .Like it a lot. Best wishes.

Thank you, Richard. If you have a stretch that seems too dull, or otherwise works against me, please do not hesitate to point it out. Tom