Drop-In (Poetry)

Old one-eye sits and slowly pecks
his share of crumbs or seeds
he’s quieter than the other birds —
more frugal with his needs

He visits our tree-high café
and struts along the sill
head cocked and stabbing at the food
no mind who pays the bill

So we indulge the sick and lame —
run a drop-in bird buffet
where feathered patrons stop to feed
then fly on freedom’s way