Blackbird


He came to the table like an invited guest

his golden beak slug-stained black.

We chased him away.


Count to ten and he’s back

an uninvited guest

pleading 

begging

opening his beak baby like,

like his babies perhaps,

or remembering his past

a golden beak still slug-stained.


We chased him away

but we know he’ll be back,

he’ll sing us a song in the morning

and hope we behave better toward him

and feed him cakes from a plate at the table

his just deserts for his hard work clearing slugs.



https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/ink-nest-poetry-a-literary-magazine-evelyn-hoyt/1146964757?ean=9798341892798


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