Marie is beautiful,
with her high spirits,
red beak and green feathers.
All day she amuses me, descending
from her bird house
and compulsively climbing up again.
She is fussy and picks through the cage's
floor for seeds, tossing
the bad ones aside
and keeping the good ones.
Her fortune is amassing.
Doctors and nurses
crowd around my bed
while Marie is content carrying
groceries up her penthouse's ladder.
I worry about my Old Marie.
I pray that next spring
I'll be here to feed her.
Bob Bradshaw, California, USA
3 comments:
Bob is a programmer living in Redwood City, CA. He is a big fan of the Rolling Stones. Recent and forthcoming work of his can be found at Eclectica, into the teeth of the wind, Foliate Oak, Slow Trains, Loch Raven Review and Orange Room Review.
I really enjoy this poem. Very powerful ending that stops you in your tracks with realization.
Thx for your kind comments...sincerely, Bob
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