snow powder tracks

into the garage —

concrete floor, slick & cold.

working quickly,

I fill bin and bird feeder

with black sunflower seeds

for our feathered friends,

who must be as weary

of this frigid winter as we are.

such an odd sight

for Midwesterners

to behold —

all this frigid cold

& the ground’s not white,

there is no snow

his clever maneuverings

how he tilts his little puppy head

the many ways he scams us

out of treats throughout the day

those soulful eyes

his belly-rub entreaties

the playful growls and groans,

notes of pleasure

telling us we are loved

I fear too many fail to understand

what’s come before us

how morning breaks its yolk of promise

in a world whose inhabitants

either flock to the light

or shy away from its brilliance

when the only thing to rile the crowd

was a president in a tan suit

or a dead mouse in a can of soup,

the price of stamps

hiked up another two cents.

*

every day now —

EVERY DAY! —

there’s a new disgrace,

a new outrage,

another reason to doubt

we’re still living

in the greatest country on earth.

*

i’m so tired of it, aren’t you?

bluest of skies

wispy planes of cloud

Canada geese circle overhead,

seeking soft spots to land

*

as I watch them in flight,

Morning Joe reports

on the ICE-ugliness in Minneapolis

and elsewhere in the country

*

the contrast could not be more stark

one, a calming natural phenomenon

the other, a danger to our very being