You feed the dog while I bring seed and suet
(a cake of cow’s fat I prefer to not think about)
and fresh water to the morning’s birds
then, over coffee, turn to the question
of a second thistle feeder: there are pros and cons.
You consider where best to lay the small body
a pine siskin prettily dappled, cradled
in the beautiful bowl you make of your hands.
We wonder how she died, certain someone
will take her, nothing without purpose, a raven
perhaps even a coyote. Our morning’s work
important and inconsequential
Kenneth David White is not new to writing poetry having earned his Master’s in the late 1970s. However, he spent the last 40+ years running humane societies, years when his energies shifted to a well-published, weekly animal-themed column. Now semi-retired, he’s returned to writing (and seeking homes for) his poems.
