Let the Birds Eat Cake

A Poem

Bailey Buckner
Jun 21, 2017 · 1 min read

The stars shake in their celestial sockets.

They rattle around the sky

like nickels in an old tin can,

while the copper moon,

whole and shining like a proper penny,

rises from behind

mountains, clouds, and downtown skylines.


And as the heavens swirl on a dime,

kicking up glittering galaxy dust,

sleek brown squirrels rip the suet cake from

a simple wire cage under the cloak of darkness,

scattering birdseed and pig fat

before stealing away with their greasy little prize.


As morning comes in dawn-colored quarters

and the warm sun lifts itself to shining,

the lovely little tits, wrens, and house finches

find they must pick, pluck, and scavenge

from what little suet and seed remain

between the splintered cracks of a neglected wooden porch —

that is, if the mockingbirds don’t get to them first.

An Appalachian writer with a penchant for depressing Russian lit. Multipotentialite. Maladaptive Daydreamer. Novel: https://goo.gl/rDJ9U1

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