Missing of the Birds by Michael Lee Johnson

Keep my journal short.

Just review January through March.

Life is a dig deep snow on my sorrow.

Bare bones of naked sparrows,

beneath my balcony, lie lifeless.

The few survivors huddle in bushes.

Gone, gone is kitchen bowl that holds the seeds.

Sparrows cannot get inside my refrigerator door

nor shop late at Wal-Mart during winter hours−

get away with it.

I drink dated milk. I host rehearsals of childhood.

Sip Mogen David Concord Wine with Diet 7Up.

Down sweet molasses and pancake butter.

I give in to condominium Polish demands.

My neighbor’s parties, loud blast language.

I am weak in the Jesus feeding of the poor.

I now merge day with night and sleep

avoid my shame and guilt.

I try clean, my thoughts of shell spotted snow.

I see fragments, no more feeding of the birds.

Michael Lee Johnson lived ten years in Canada during the Vietnam era: now known as the Itasca, IL poet. Today he is a poet, freelance writer, and photographer who experiments with poetography (blending poetry with photography), and has been published in more than 750 small press magazines in 26 countries. Michael is the author of The Lost American: From Exile to Freedom and several chapbooks, including From Which Place the Morning Rises and Challenge of Night and Day, and Chicago Poems. He also has over 69 poetry videos on YouTube. Find him on Facebook and Twitter as poetrymanusa.

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