by Joyce Lott
At first I thought you were female like me, protecting your nest
but I searched the roof and the eaves. I even got up
on a ladder. That’s when I asked my neighbor,
our local wildlife expert.
“If she has a shiny black head, she’s male,” my neighbor said.
“Anyway, it’s too early for nesting, just the beginning of April.”
That drove me crazy. All that bird shit
on the window, an inch deep, no exaggeration, on the garage
windowsill, and you looking like you wanted to peck my eyes out
every time I walked down my own driveway.
“He’s just establishing his territory,” my neighbor said
when I took out my Windex. That long window
seemed like such a good idea
when my husband and I added on the garage,
establishing our territory. But now my husband’s dead
and I don’t need another man taking over my space.
I wouldn’t have minded if he were a she.
I understand nesting insects.
But this is out of the question, a male with a shiny head
deciding that my house, or even my garage, belongs to him.
Joyce Lott is a member of the Cool Women Poets. Finishing Line Press published two of her chapbooks and Garrison Keillor read one of her poems on public radio.
