A DIALOGUE ON ROBINS
(Conversations with Stick Series #18)
They beat me to the edge of the woods, Stick.
These chattering businessmen are like birds.
Huh? They are birds, milord. Red-breast robins!
And I thought this was my sylvan refuge. Bah!
Look, it’s a tulip tree with chirping red leaves!
Red breasts and pot-bellies, milord. Careful.
What are you asking me to be cautious for?
This is my spot. I preside here. My territory.
(Splatt! Tweet. Sweet! Tweet. Sweet. Splott!)
That, milord, is something even God could not,
Would not warn you about, nor even help.
Dang! Tulip leaves are bombing Libyan planes.
Hide, Stick. Take cover. These bombs stink!
(Tut-tut-tut. A full-bellied robin released it.)
Shut up, Stick! I don’t fancy flatulence either.
---Albert B. Casuga07-01-11
Prompt: A convocation of robins in the tulip tree at the edge of the woods, like pot-bellied businessmen with their self-important tut-tut-tuts.---Dave Bonta, The Morning Porch. 07-01-11