Red red cardinal

When the shark of Wall Street
scratches for sparrow blood
you know that you are living 
in a freaky Stepford world,
with requisite manikin wives
and all those lily-white pearls.
The treatment of mother earth
like a childhood piggy bank
leaves nothing but hermit crab shells
in humanity’s wake.
The word magic that he uses
exalts himself alone,
all the while he steals
the worth of other souls and
leaves his sisters in the dust
of the shattered soil.

The cardinal must be wary
of the feral cat – enemy of
all things feather,
the flying must hold back.
When the cat grows bored
and lazes in the sun,
the male cardinal comes.
It is his chance to search
for centipedes –
nutrients for his young.
And then he bends to feed
his progeny with care.
Where to find hope
In the house of Stepford bleak,
oh, red red cardinal
your tenderness is sweet.

The talons of the eagle
stretch out in search of prey
and then he brings a meal up
to distant aerie. He
swoops in to where she sits
with a hungry chick to feed
and partners they take
turns – they share the work.
It seems the raising of the eaglet
is a father’s prerogative.

My father made a game
of everything he could,
the kidding started with diaper pins,
and the attic Hooey Ha*.
He thought my mother
walked on water,
and believe you me,
if we distressed her,
we learned we learned
to only bless her with
best behavior since she was
the queen, the saint,
his earthly love.
My father now is gone,
but his humanity lives on.

The tale of the red red cardinal
and the eagle soaring high
is a tale for all of us –
not every spore of earth
needs to be loused up.
Feed your young,
help your spouse,
I pray that you will be
like the red red cardinal,
and then perhaps the auspices
will let the species live on,
live on and on and on.

1/2018

*The Hooey Ha was a not scary “monster” who lived in the attic of the Birkam house on Grandville in Detroit in the 1960s.

Published by Anne Birkam

I am a former librarian who has been writing poetry most of her life.

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