When Life Is For The Birds Poem by Ted Sheridan

Her once only rarely quiescent smile was static as she sat quietly
in her painted antique cane rocker; very deep in thought.
Obviously the drugs were doing their job, as she seemed to be
sorting out the dynamics of a life that had dropped her off
and left her for dead. The slats of the bare hardwood floor
in the old home creaked like rigid bones with each passing
of the rocker’s runners; there lay only a small red and blue
braided rug beneath her tired feet, ignoring the chatter.
On a fence rail outside her window sat two mockingbirds,
enjoying the warmth of the early morning sun
as it began the new day with a smile above the thatched gabled roof
of the old woman’s final resting place.
Their tiny bird feet and toes covered with wet dew; their bellies still empty
from a nighttime of sleep, there would be plenty of time for them to eat.
Her once only rarely quiescent smile was static; they could
but would not mock her…. as the old woman seemed to be
sorting out the dynamics of a life that was ending
right in front of their gazing eyes…

2008 © T Sheridan