My dad built a little motor:
Hand-crank, wires, little rotor.
He would wait for squirrels to climb
Up his feeders. Every time
One got there and started feeding,
Eating what birds should be eating,
Dad would turn that crank and then
Squirrel, shocked, ran away again.

Dad died early- forty-nine!-
Way before his proper time.
So now I sit here in the sun
Doing what he would have done
When I see the birds can’t eat
So I must the squirrels defeat;
I hit them with jets of water,
Serve his memory as his daughter.


About janemwoodman

Singer, writer, restaurant reviewer, urban farmer, devoted lover of my husband....old and getting happier all the time.
This entry was posted in Dogs, Birds and Other Joys, Poetry, Songs, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

So what do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s