FEEDING BIRDS IN WINTER

Hairdo
I get tired of having to small talk those
Northcountry hair stylists part-timing in a bad frame
So I start letting it just grow like this.
As a kid I combed it high in front puffed up
With slimy green gel that hardened stiff when it dried.
My redhead Mom washed hers with henna each week
And Dad was jet black to the end slicked back
With oily hair tonic and something in a tube.
I wore it short since Navy days so you can't see
Any of it in the graduation picture under the cap--
Just white, gold braid and the bright anchor on top.
The kids keep it long in a ponytail
Or loosely flung in back like a girl.
My son dyes his black and the silky shine from it
Sets off his white skin and striking blue eyes.
His girlfriend is 16 and has a car. She waitresses
In Placid and he gets work there to keep her company.
Weekends she picks him up and they visit together
At her place with a family of 8 kids TV and pizza.
He interns at the Buzz in Burlington for a senior project
And both of them get stuck there overnight in a storm.
The cops help them find a hotel and they 
Watch movies and hang out till the next day.

Blossom
She lets me play between her legs nights
We babysit together in the Brooklyn project
Where she lives with only her Mom and a kid sister.
She gives it to an older guy that Summer
Working at a big hotel in the mountains.
I have a job bussing at a small place in Monticello
To be near her and I learn about it from her friend
Who lets me in the girls dorm one night.
Weekends the owner's son sings Yiddish in a beautiful voice
To the ageing clientele and after there's a dairy meal.
The place closes down Labor Day and I work another week
At a Chinese restaurant that fills up every night
When the show lets out at the Concord. 
My room is small. When the waitress passes the door
I feel her supple body going by under the clothing.
A black singer popular with the well off Jewish crowd
Comes in one night. He's handsome with regular features.
She calls me after and comes out to the Island on the train
To talk and I drive around with her in the '40 Dodge
Dad gave me trying hard to get over being upset.
I stop at a busy spot on Franklin and don't touch her.
Years later she finds me in a phone book.
I pick the receiver up in the dining room from a small table
In the corner and listen to her voice on the other end.
She marries a teacher at Midwood and my wife
Knows what the call is all about without me telling her.

Chickadees
Zero degrees and there are no visitors
At the fancy pole feeder by the kitchen window
Bare today except for a few empty husks.
A miniature gazebo in cedar with finely detailed railing
Shake shingle roof and a copper clad high cupola
We got it years ago on a quiet country road down South.
I lift the top to fill it and bring out more suet cake.
The squirrel's knocked the cover off the seed bin again
And I put it back with a few stout pieces of firewood on top.
Winters they flock together the dominant couple guiding them
To cover and food with signals too subtle for me to catch.
Three or four at a time they keep their distance
Remaining motionless between quick jabs at a striped seed
Between their feet or a glob of frozen peanut mix with fat.
The young are wary taking a far position.
For minutes on end a strong one has the place all to himself
Advancing on a new arrival with high outstretched wings
Until they both are lost in a flutter of feathers
And sharp beaks falling away together off the platform.
Observing the size movement patterns and facial coloration
Of each one I try to place them in the pecking order.
An all white face returns and scares off many times.
February the sky is clear and under it the plump bodies
In sun dart briefly over the fresh snow lighting again
On the lilac bush behind the house always when they return.
In a few weeks they'll pair off some for the first time
Up to the black spruce forest on the big lot
Building their nests far off from one another in dense shade.

Jay NY 2/1/99