Poetry
Happy
C. Earl Nelson
these
little birds
not mockingbird
nor robin
nor finch and
not jay
these little fellows
flitting from brick to brick
gathering crumbs
singing along
if they are aware
of me, tattoo'd and
caffeinated
they
do not
show it
and if they hear
the roaring sunday morning traffic
they do not show it,
every crumb.
every twig.
happy happy.