You think I wouldnâ€™t be able to tell
one Robin from another, but I know
this isnâ€™t the mother of the two fledglings
unfortunately nested dead
center of the Hibiscus tree
on my deck. No, this one is different,
sort of a tuft of hair on its head instead
of the smooth feathers of the momma bird
Iâ€™ve come to recognize. A louder, deeper voice,
more throaty, more demanding. Itâ€™s relentless,
persistently demanding that I leave.
I was here first. You go. It doesnâ€™t.
Just keeps squawking at me. The word
territorial comes to mind. Then, angry.
April Salzano teaches college writing in Pennsylvania. Her work has appeared in Poetry Salzburg, Pyrokinection, Convergence, Ascent Aspirations, The Rainbow Rose, The Camel Saloon, The Applicant, The Mindful Word, Napalm and Novocain, The Second Hump, Jellyfish Whispers, The South Townsville Micro Poetry Journal, The Weekender Magazine, and is forthcoming in Inclement, Poetry Quarterly, Decompression, and Daily Love. Â She is working on her first collection of poetry and an autobiographical novel on raising a child with Autism.
Photo: Erithacus rubecula by Kevin Law (France, 2007) via Wikimedia Commons