Perhaps they were songbirds
squabbling outside
in the trees
They seem not to notice that
the sun engulfs
them and warms their feathers
They squawk in spite of an absence
of the dark and spitting clouds
that until yesterday had plagued
my short Roman Holiday
These birds should be rejoicing,
singing hosannas
Instead, they peck at each other
and I stand inside folding laundry
before it wrinkles.
Sandy Kinnee
January 15, 2010