Birdsong Trumps Dump Truck
       

birdsong trumps dump truck
pinkening the eastern sky

body in motion
tend to this day without end

bearing a bowl of rice as birds
distinct from clay flute

throat away in the gutters
bowl of salt

and birds we eat
I am restless expecting

mist to wrest free
these clouds and spoil

or make the afternoon
there are always better

options than the ones chosen
when I open this

orange I offer
the scent of oranges

canyons
crayons

like a chair
broken against the wall

then sunken into
I welcome you

when it is me
who arrives

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Copyright © 2019 Fred Schmalz All rights reserved
from Action in the Orchards
Nightboat Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission