Head Bangers and Drillers
Since a bear chomped the old finch feeder in half,
gorging itself before winter, it seems
they only sell tube feeders with beak slits
so tiny even my smallest friends gave up
flitting in to bang their little heads on the stingy
clear plastic, so scant the benefit in a hard winter,
all that bounty visible yet locked up inside.
It made sense to punch holes a bit bigger
in my gated granary. I flew south
to Sedona for a week, hoping to escape
this long black and white movie called winter
only to discover upon landing more
tickets must be bought so one can park
to hike among mesquite and red rocks,
then punch out numbers on a keypad
to squeeze through a gate gaining access
to a bed for a few days among the rich.
How many in the world have given up
banging their heads at the slits of paradise
and how many others are fitting bits
to their drills ready to punch bigger holes
in the stingy clear plastic of the world?
© Angus Watkins