The cheap plastic feeder strung

The cheap plastic feeder, strung

from the maple, slightly swung

in the faint, unseasonable breeze.

I watched from my window, through the trees,

a grubby pane blurring the view.

I’d bought the good seed, expensive too,

expecting color, a flutter, a rush.

Instead, a fat pigeon, beak too lush,

landed on the railing, fat and gray.

He pecked once, then turned and flew away.

Didn’t even glance at the damp seeds stuck

to the feeder’s bottom, just bad luck.

Empty effort, clinging there,

like tiny, unsaid prayers.