how the birds eat my trash
beak slitting plastic. gossip about
a mourning dove who is still sad.
she's thinking about capitalism & food waste.
chickadees hunger. they look at each other
& feel all the same. clones. one imagines
a huge giant egg they all could have
came from. what makes a meal?
i scrape a spoon against the bottom of
the house looking for crumbs.
songbird munching on plastic.
through the window i tell her
she'll die if she eat that. laughs debris
from her mouth. the flies arrive
in a cloud. the most certain sign
of demise. even the birds fear
too many. i slice a peach
into five pieces & eat each slowly.
once, i watched a mini documentary
about people with eating disorders
& this one man said, "i cut everything
into the smallest pieces i can."
are there birds with eating disorders?
sometimes they watch me use my tablespoon
& i tell them to mind their own business.
a cardinal nibbles on a caramel.
sticky & sweet. somewhere in the forest,
there are hawks with their piercing faces.
my microwave is my caregiver right now.
in the morning, the trash bags
are full of little holes. banana peels
shredded & dispersed.
at least i get to see the birds.
i'm not sure what else comes to visit
my back porch at night. the ivy grows lush
even in the shade. a fox? a raccoon?
i am scared of all mammals. they're deceptive.
a bird is an honest animal. hungry
like me. no arms. impending flight.
i wash a bowl out in the sink. run a sponge
against a knife.