You come each day at dusk,
Under a bumpy-barked maple tree,
Grown from a stick in the ground.
Twenty-five years later
Voluminous branches and leaves.
Backing into a crevice in the tree
Claiming your space
Place of security
Panoramic view of the yard
No surprises during dinner
Free to munch and crunch
Clicking teeth like typewriter keys
Kernels of corn and sunflower seeds
Spill over from the squirrel feeder
Creatures on tiny feet bob around
A small platform
Anticipating the arrival of a car,
Or children playing,
I watch, quiet and still,
From my table on the porch.
Furry companions with pink ears
And white, round tails,
I witness your dinner,
While I rest, satisfied from mine.