Spent magnolias droop, deflated
in the morning light--
soiled, sodden tissues
no one wants to touch.
Detonated tulips slough off
their mutilated petals
and hyacinths topple over.
Fat, ridiculous things.
The dogs roll and roll
on surreal new green,
backs arching, chlorophyll seeping
into their porous souls.
Robins swoop in for remnant fur.
In a mad panic to build and brood,
they’re making bad decisions:
flying into windows, starting nests in mailboxes.
The pond slowly belches its algal bloom,
clouds of slime smother the surface,
frantic dragonfly nymphs pulse sediment
while water lilies choke the broken pump.
Next door, a collared dove coos incessantly,
an alien import we once thought charming.
Neurotic flicker, horny headbanger, thrums
his love song on any metal surface that will have him.
From the kitchen, I watch fierce hummingbirds
dive bomb each other while shy juncos
wait their turn at the feeder
and towhees fever scratch the leaves below.
This flurry of activity is exhausting.
Even the snails are rushing out,
leaving their silvery autographs
- Kirsten Pendreigh