The Birds And The Bags

The bay park morning is so pretty—sparrows sprint
from windmill palms to date palms where they play,
eat, and sing. I’m jealous of the fun they’re having,
and their fine, sharp claws and beaks as I struggle
to open a doggy poop bag.

Dry fingers, Covid-19 mask-covered face—I can’t lick
my fingers, can’t spit, and this reminds me
how idiotic I feel in the produce section of grocery stores—
even before masks—when I’d rub the sides of a bag together,
secretly spit, abandon a bag for another—
I find myself resentful as I look again…

at the sparrows, and a green parrot who just landed
is now upside down on a limb. A seagull pulled
and opened a bag from a garbage bin—
they seem to be mocking me. Tonight I’ll order
a new Covid-19 costume—face mask with bird beak,
couple of claws—wear them shopping,
play Nagano’s Bird Concerto when I return to my nest.

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