Feeding The Multitudes (Poetry)

They must by now have numbered
umpteen generations
those robins, magpies, pigeons, finches — even gulls
and I have fed them all
without any prejudice or favour
in the 30-odd years
I’ve lived in this godforsaken spot the edge of town

What they think of me — what they see
as huge and ungainly
with my obvious disability
unable to fly and lacking
all sign of feathering
is as unknowable as any kind of mystery

It isn’t just the company of birds —
the squirrels, too
possibly the odd mouse or rodent cousin
all make free with bread and scraps
mixed seed and nuts — they drop by and help themselves
to anything on offer — always a goodly spread

I consider the multitude of hungry mouths I’ve filled
throughout the seasons
come rain, sunshine or bitter nights with snow
does the bluetit wonder or the casually snacking jay
ever worry who will take on my role and feed them
when I pack up and go?