I operate an amusement park on
the back deck of our house.
Chimes do double duty
as sliding poles for squirrels,
with an obstacle course of chain-swung feeders,
sunflower seeds at the bottom.
Flickers flit, feeder to feeder,
dodging spinners twirling
the adventurous squirrel,
hooked on for a whirl.
Chickadee, wren and finch
kamikazes, without the flinch,
zoom between chains, chimes and feeders,
while squirrels leap from
rail to spinner to pine trunk,
earning the high without the drunk.

At my leisure,
it is no trouble
to maintain this bubble
of ride and spin, seed and suet.
My patrons fear filled lives as prey
deserve a place where they can play.
Or pray, as does the chickadee,
a twittered grace before she feeds,
or the abbot squirrel in his monkish stance,
nibbling when he gets the chance.

All this provides a priceless pleasure
free to me
and, so, I do it!