A blackbird is in the shed
while I am clearing
away evidence of my evening with Lucy.
The bird blinks,
perched on rolled-up, rusting metal wiring.
I startle, scream,
but he doesn’t move,
even when I come close.
He blinks again.
Fearlessly leers.
Is he injured or gutsy?
Did he see everything from last night?
| I open the door | wide |
| so he can | fly free. |
He turns away
and I’m too creeped out to
clean any more.
Back in the house,
Marla is watching TV with the sound down.