T.

The jays are out with their fledgling:
flying lessons. All-a-kerfuffle on account
of the two cats, the lazy cats,
the limp-Sunday-afternoon cats
with their diffidence, who in turn are alarmed
by the jays' incessant cratch cratch cratch.
I keep trying to snap a photo of the youngster
who teeters on photinia twigs, obscured
by crimson leaves. No luck.
And no danger here with these middle-aged
maiden felines.

***

The other day I caught myself saying
where in heck is....
and I thought,
no one ever says go to heck!
But the Irish say, feck-it,
and once while driving in Ireland
there was a boy hitchhiking
with a t-shirt that said FCEK.
In a fit of anger, I could say,
Go feck yourself! And while you're at it, go to heck!
But I probably won't.

***

As accompaniment to the Stellar's jays,
the duet of Bebo and Chucho Valdez
on piano. A glass of chenin blanc.
A roast in the oven (fresh thyme, garlic,
bay leaves, marjoram). Butter lettuce
and radicchio in a bowl, walnuts to roast,
gorgonzola vinaigrette to whirl in the blender.
This is life and this is good.