Bird Feeders

by Robert E. Petras

I watched four laborers suck out a pit.
I just stood there twiddling my thumbs
on the air keyboard, drifting,
                drifting into reverie,
back to our front porch,
sitting there, watching flinches flit
around the bird feeders, thinking of you.
Deeper and deeper they nibbled.

Suddenly we were driving
along a country lane
getting to know each other.
                During our few gaps of silence,
we both were daydreaming.

You told me you had been dreaming
of a white house in the country
with white wicker chairs
on the front porch
and bird feeders.

A slurping sound they made
told me they had reached the bottom,
freed the passage,
but the slurping really reminded me
of our straws finishing a soda
at a little Dairy Isle
after our ride in the country.

During twilight we shall sit
upon those white wicker chairs
on our front porch
and watch the birds feasting
upon our dreams,
still getting to know each other
just a little more.