Catbird

There, amid the berry canes,

He cocks his head and stares at me.

Claiming his homestead

Where I have planted

Oblivious to my years of toil.

♥

Staring back, I find it hard

To hold his gaze and stand my ground.

Was “cocky” invented simply because

There was no word that captured, “catbird?”

Mewing again, he tells me, be gone!

♥

Ruffling his feathers, he puffs out his chest,

Darts through the air to the top of the tree.

The apples are his, he proclaims from its peak.

And looks with disdain on the likes of me

I am the intruder.  He owns the garden.

♥

Raspberries hide amid the thorns

I gingerly pick them, avoiding the sting.

Catbird watches nearby on the ground

I toss him a berry, expect him to fly.

He mews as he plucks it and gobbles it down.

♥

© Pamela Stead Jones 2011