Monday, December 11, 2023


Between bungalows' little 
cold sighs
of front yards

each strangled with wires
and tinsel 
and lights,

and the street curb, 
all caked with 
December's take on dirt, 

a few robins—great rakes 
in the long days 
gone by,

now gaunt,
pale, and desperately 
pointed and sticky—

are darting ever faster 
back and forth 
between the pines

and squawking nonstop 
about the good times 
come next Easter.