I think about suicide daily
Not as an alternative
But part of my human condition
That reflects me as I reflect upon it

Robins have made a home in our backyard.
Today, an old fat one lights upon the row
of potted nasturtiums
I placed upon the wall of the garden bed.
Light plastic pots filled with weightless potting soil,
he hops one to the other,

The clown does Shakespeare
and we laugh.

Hidden waif, tortured reader,
stolen son, serious child,

why do we howl when you misbehave,
cry, when you are kind?

My family often call me a bear.
Perhaps it’s my grumpy nature.
I’m known to roar if startled,
behave badly if woken abruptly.