Found Wanting

Mockingbird

Mockingbird (Photo credit: Billtacular)

I heard the tsk, tsk, tsk above me and wondered
if God had again joined the grand chorus
that finds me not quite whatever enough at…
whatever.
Even I’ve begun humming their repertoire.
My eyes skittered up that wife-beater wearing
birch’s bare arms and spied mockingbird’s
long ruler-straight tail. Tsk, tsk, tsk.
“You too?” I said, hoping he had mockingbird
cover band rehearsal elsewhere this near-spring dawn.

A golden bullet flashed between us and
drew my eyes from birch top to pine bough,
where a little black-capped yella fella Finch
parked and sang. I didn’t recognize the tune,
but it sounded like he was tweeting for
a po-ta-to-chip-chip-chip.

We all have wants, I guess, something we think
will content us in this discontented world,
if even for that moment. Some gain joy by stealing it,
in a gush or drop by drop, from another.
Others merely crave a snack. I haven’t divined
my Capital W want yet. Is it possible
to want not being found wanting anymore?
If not, for now I’d like some of Goldie’s chips
and Blue Warbler’s beer-beer-beer.
I know…Tsk…

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5 thoughts on “Found Wanting

  1. One of the pleasures of travelling to a different country, and especially a different continent, is hearing the unfamiliar birdsong. As a Brit, the birdsong in North America always hits me me between the ears. So I have enjoyed this poem for several reasons – one of those being the impression of life in another country. All those birds and their songs, so familiar to you that you can play with their sounds in this poem; so ‘different’ to me.

    • Thank you, John. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I even “heard” birds. That’s when I got my hearing aids and they opened a new world to this still-reluctant poet.

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