and the baths. My feathered
friends won’t splash to cool off
on a raging hot day. Not a drop

of water to swallow
as the grass turns to hay. No
dancing song from my lawn on
a languorous July afternoon. Soon

I won’t hear the chirping
beaks dining out cheek to cheek,
amongst the cotton tail bunny. So funny
seeing him pick the bits that fall from

the outdoor café. He looks
for grey pedestrians, that shove
their bushy bodies in. Mass Wildlife warns a
mysterious illness leaving the song

birds with crusty eyes -
crusty as my cinnamon crumble
apple pie. So, many died. And I ask
how is this? Since the virus the Robin

and jaybird are my friends. Now,
here I sit on my splintered deck –
sipping lemon and gin
all by myself again!