Wing-stroke
For the women in the shelters and those who didn't make it
His pockets stuffed with Nyger seed,
he wonders if it’s true
that black-capped chickadees will feed
from outstretched hands. They do.
He stands in fascination while
it pecks, relaxed and cool
yet circumspect. He has to smile;
this bird is no one’s fool.
It senses something in his touch,
flits from the palm just kissed,
as if it feels the coming clutch
of steady hand to fist.
Smart chickadee, to notice in
the blinking of an eye,
the monster in this next of kin
who wouldn’t hurt a fly.
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