Wing-stroke

Wing-stroke

Your pockets stuffed with Nyger seed,
you wonder if it’s true
that black-capped chickadees will feed
from human hands. They do.

You stand in fascination while
it pecks, relaxed and cool
yet circumspect. You have to smile;
this bird is no one’s fool.

It senses something in your touch,
flits from the palm just kissed,
as if it feels the coming clutch
of outstretched hand to fist.

Smart chickadee, to notice in
the blinking of an eye,
the monster in my next-of-kin
who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

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