The call of the Great Horned Owl

I hear a nighttime sound within my room

Who’s that, hooting right at noon?

a Great Horned Owl, a Screech, a loon

Whose call disturbs this sun instead of moon?

 

What owl hoots by my window right at noon?

my senses must be dampened by my sleep

Whose call could disturb this sunny room?

a false owl, raven, such a tiny peep

 

Surely my ears deceive me, drunk from sleep

it cannot be an owl, no not at noon

a false owl,  perhaps, a finch’s tiny peep

I’m not awake, I’m weary still from sleep

 

It cannot be an owl, no not at noon

perhaps a Great Horned Owl, a Screech, a loon?

I awaken, weary from my sleep

lulled by a nighttime sound within my room

 

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Things I Might Survive On: A List

Avocados. Salt. The intoxicating aroma

of lilacs. Is that edifying? Don’t be silly.

Nothing straightens my spine like a little

abhorrence of arrival of spring. The pinks,

and the yellows, the whites and the greens.

But coffee evens out the jags, even as it adds

zags to my zigs. Don’t misunderstand.

I’m not a terrible person. I am a person

who is sometimes terrible. Big difference.

It’s the difference between living on lemons

or living on limes. Both fight scurvy. A bite

is necessary if you are going to survive

the big bumps. Also, I might need some protein.

I approve of beef, tuna, shrimp, chicken, but not

Puffin. Why? Perhaps because they are so cute.

No, I will not eat the fermented shark fat or sheep

head or anything buried in the yard for a year.

Certain kinds of kimchi: yes. Why does fermentation

improve some things and decay others?

Take wine. Yes. But not beer or anything remotely

flavored of licorice. I must have chocolate, even

if it means hiding it in my suitcase. I’ll get iron

from chard or kale, but not from blood sausage.

Never from blood sausage. We all need love, of course,

but where can you find some on the spur of the moment?

From a dog of course, but he will want at least some of your

food, preferably the beef and not the kimchi. Water.

We all need water, but too much and we drown, not

unlike beetles caught in the blooming tulips.

That could be an insult, you know.

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