Fledgling

Child-rearing: birds know all about it.
The blackbirds in the back yard
are frazzled from feeding
the fat, brown, idle fledgling
that squats on the low wall
between the dustbins and the garage.
I can’t stay here all night watching for next door’s cat.
That’s when I catch myself praying,
atheist at the kitchen window,
impotent as God.

Published in Angle poetry webzine and in ‘Infinite in All Perfections’ from Happenstance Press