Missing Of The Birds Poem by Michael Lee Johnson

Missing of the Birds
By Michael Lee Johnson

Keep my journal short.
Just review January through March.
Life is a dig deep snow on my sorrow.
Bare bones of naked sparrows,
beneath my balcony, lie lifeless.
The few survivors huddle in bushes.
Gone, gone is kitchen bowl that holds the seeds.
Sparrows cannot get inside my refrigerator door
nor shop late at Wal-Mart during winter hours−
get away with it.
I drink dated milk. I host rehearsals of childhood.
Sip Mogen David Concord Wine with Diet 7Up.
Down sweet molasses and pancake butter.
I give in to condominium Polish demands.
My neighbor's parties, loud blast language.
I am weak in the Jesus feeding of the poor.
I now merge day with night and sleep
avoid my shame and guilt.
I try clean, my thoughts of shell spotted snow.
I see fragments, no more feeding of the birds.

-2014-