Away with a crumb

one morning, when August was almost through
three sparrows attacked the broken baguette
a robin magpie came by the rear door, too
to watch them eat, and thought it might get

away, with a crumb

it turned around to look at me,
enquiring, then re-booked its place
half-opposite the rustle-prone bamboo tree
peering, watching the tap water race

away, with a crumb

I broke a part of wrapped white bread to
put in the sink, then turned the tap on
with groaning, the water came on cue
I looked, but my bird, it had gone

away, with no crumb

it was no matter; in truth I didn’t care
for I know full-well it will return again
in the hot and non-stop hungry air
in tree-break force breeze, in warm light rain

to come for a crumb

then, at the time when I terrace teach
it hops right up close along to peer at me
listening, no doubt, to find out if I reach
the requisite perspicacity

then, back for a crumb