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Grackles
Persuaded by a bogus theology,
Believing that God inhabits all things,
We have at length given in to the grackles.
No longer do I rap at the window
Lest they devour seed meant for the goldfinches,
Who can take care of themselves.
The grackles cast an oily, blue-black glance:
“You put up bird feeders? We’re birds! Where’s the problem?”
Sadly, I no longer argue.
With the gray squirrels, though, it’s a different matter
False Spring
Flowering
fruit trees, cherries and pears,
After a false spring and late March frost:
Blossoms a dingy pink and white
Against a cold sky the color of dishwater
And woods still gray with winter.
I pass an abandoned convenience store,
With plywood windows like bandaged eyes,
Its solitary pump a sentinel
By the side of the road,
A sign, among many, of things,
Like some people’s marriages,
Which had offered promise
But didn’t work out.
Robert Demaree retired
recently after 42 years as a teacher and administrator in schools in the
U.S., in Georgia, Louisiana, Virginia and North Carolina. He was born in
Pennsylvania and has family ties to New England, so he has always been
interested in what Donald Hall calls “a pleasure of place.”
He has written A History of Greensboro Day School, a chapbook of
poems called New Hampshire Pond, and has had over 125 poems
published or accepted by approximately 45 periodicals.
Robert Demaree
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