Two poems for ‘my’ barista
The Northern Flicker
says my local barista,
is his new favorite bird.
Watch out for it -
speckled breast, a
rata-tat-tat - it's a
woodpecker - a bold
red fleck curving
back from its beak.
I’m on the move, on
the watch. Sparrows,
pigeons, seagulls, a shag
down on Lake Union -
was that a large hawk
circling our hill
yesterday afternoon
or a small eagle?
Out comes his iPhone -
brings up the US bird app:
every bird has a snap,
painting, habits, and map.
That gorgeous speckled
breast! and listen! each
bird sings in your ear
at the flick of a switch.
Hold on to that - there’ll
be no mistake. The male
courting signal is ratatat
on loudest metal.
The female flicker will
find it an irresistible
signaling all over
bird-rich Capitol Hill.
Goldfinch and Golden Gorse
Learning more birds?
my barista asked me loudly,
over his loud machinery.
Still strongest, I said wryly,
on seagulls, sparrows,
pigeons, crows.
What would be the birds above
that we didn’t see
outside your other cafe? -
when one pooped
on my wife’s shoulder
and nearly in her coffee.
Ah yes, they’re here, he said,
for this season’s thistle seeds.
The goldfinch. (Washington
State’s official bird.
To be so decorated
by it, aren’t we honoured…?)
Our talk turned to weeds,
as ‘everywhere’ as pigeons -
childhood’s dandelions,
puffballs, daisy-chains,
blackberries (the bramble),
prickly but harvestable.
I’m no environmentalist,
an ‘anywhere’ tumbleweed.
The sight of golden gorse -
brought by the Scots who settled
my homeland - soon a curse -
makes me homesick, I confess.
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