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.